69th Virginia Expeditionary Force
by gladesilverleaf
Summary: A small group of 3rd Lyran Guard MechWarriors rotate out and found their own mercenary unit, the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. This story chronicles their first contracts, beginning immediately after the War of '39 and leading up to the impending Clan Invasion in 3049. Contains some mature scenes, and remains strictly true to established Battletech canon.
1. Book 1 - Vega

Chapter 1

Skye  
Lyran Commonwealth  
3038

"I want to be transferred to the Third Lyran, sir."

"******, Sigil, I know what you're thinking. You think you're the first person to lose a brother in the Succession Wars?! Christ, man…" Sgt. Master Tech Anthem's eyebrows furrowed as he looked away shaking his head.

"Look, you're going to be up for Master Tech in two years, tops. Master Tech in…", Anthem lifted a calloused finger, "One..,", his fingers continuing to raise one after another, "…Two…Three…Four….Five. Five years. Master Tech in 5 years. You're ****** gifted, Sigil, that's what you are! I can't even recall the last Tech I knew that made Master in 5 years, and I know just about every Tech serving in the Lyran Guard. Hell, it took me 10!" Anthem ran his hand down from his forehead, pausing to rub his chin, eyes intent.

"Your work with targeting and tracking systems is the best I've ever seen." His hand dropped back down to rest on his desk, as he paused for moment. "I think you could make Electronics Engineer, Sigil, I really do."

Pausing once again, Anthem's eyes sparkled and a grin crept across his mouth. "I've read your file, Sigil. The whole thing. Even the report of your time back in Sanglamore. Including the incident involving the Kommandant's Battlemaster."

He began to laugh. "Apparently, you recalibrated the laser optics so they all fired hot pink… and programmed his battle computer to broadcast a farting sound whenever he fired the PPC! God, I wish I could have been there to see it!"

"And…", Sgt. Anthem turned serious, "I also saw your gunnery marks, Sigil. Frankly, you suck. You washed out of MechWarrior training on Sanglamore, that's how you ended up on the Tech track."  
Anthem shrugged. "With scores like that, the best you could hope for is to be assigned to some backwater planet on garrison duty in an ancient Stinger."

He spread his fingers wide. "Third Lyran, front line combat unit… forget about it. Those guys are all vets or hotshots… not Techs who flunked Gunnery."

"I know what you're going through. The Dragon took your brother. You want to make them pay. But think about it. Wasting your talent on some meaningless assignment, or charging off getting yourself killed isn't going to bring your brother back. It isn't going to do anything. Use your talents, son, don't try to be something you're not. I'm approving you for a month's R&R. Go home, see your parents, have a fling…take some time. Think about it…"

He handed Sigil a memstick.

-

Vega  
Draconcis Combine  
3039

"What in Blake's Blood are you doing, Leutnant Sigil!?" Hauptmann Henley's scowl was increasing by the second.

Cables were snaking out in all directions from the salvaged remains of the Kurita Clint cockpit.  
"I'm hacking into the T&T system, sir. This thing still has the original Sloane 220 Lockover in it! Come on! You must have heard of it before, it's practically LosTech. Man! I've been freakin' dreaming of having a chance to play with one. Look at this sir! I knew it! They left the ballistics profile of the original Armstrong Buster AC/10 in here!"

"Leutnant, why do I have a bad feeling about this? I remember what happened the last time you were messing around with a T&T system. You jacked that salvaged Tek TruTrak T&T system your Grasshopper and your entire 'Mech had to be rebooted... IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BATTLEFIELD! IN A HOT COMBAT ZONE! PUTTING YOUR FELLOW LANCEMATES AT RISK!"

The Hauptmann was about to go off like an ammo explosion of inferno rounds.

"Sir, just look at this ballistics readout on that old Buster. Notice anything odd?"

"Lt. Sigil, get back to your post immediately. That is a direct order. Nothing would please me more than to bust your sorry, scrawny butt back to Tech."

-

"Just look at this Weddle. Notice anything?" Sigil's eyes gleamed manically as his friend reviewed the readout on the tablet.

"Hmm, well, the damage curve at range. Looks like a good 90 meters more than a standard AC/10. Actually, looks almost exactly like a PPC curve now that I think about it, except it doesn't drop off at close range."

"Scroll down and keep looking" Sigil was practically drooling.

"What's this curve?" Weddle paused scratching his head and staring. "I did my elective at Sanglamore in Heavy Weapons…looks like a cross between a PPC and heavy autocannon. More damage than a particle beam, more range than a heavy autocannon. What is this?"

Sigil was beaming now. "I'm telling you, Weddle, I just stumbled across something that could change everything. I checked the serial number in the cockpit of that Clint we scrapped outside the depot. It's a freakin' CLNT-1-2R! They swapped the Buster 10 for an Armstrong 5 on the 2-3U. They only made 20 of the 1-2Rs, count them, 20, of the 1-2Rs. And, supposedly, all those left with Kerensky in the Exodus. This one must have had a field retrofit to match the 2-3U at some point so no one knew the difference."  
"So, what does that have to do with this weird ballistics readout?"

"Don't you see!? That's the readout on the original Star League era Armstrong Buster AC/10! So get this, from what I can figure out, the Buster 10 actually has TWICE the rate of fire of a stock autocannon. That's what this strange curve shows. I mapped it all. Imagine you fired TWO rounds in the time it takes a standard AC to fire one round. But there's a catch, see. Just like missiles, both shots might not hit target. You might hit with the first round, but not the second, or, and imagine this, you might hit with BOTH! It'd be like getting slammed by one of the PPCs from Hamilton's Warhammer, except it's coming out of the barrel of a 40-ton 'mech!"

Sigil whistled and grinned.

"Man, could you imagine what that would look like, or sound like," Weddle laughed. "I'd hate to meet that on the battlefield. Everyone knows the Clint has paper thin armor and that little pop gun. When we took the depot, I practically ignored that thing , even the Jenner registered as a bigger threat. Imagine. WHAM, taking two medium-heavy rounds to the rear. If that doesn't wake you up, it's because you're dead."

"I'm telling you, Weddle," Sigil's eyes filled with fervor, "I'm going to bring back the 1-2R. I downloaded the specs from the Sloane before the Hauptmann ran me off. The 1-2R didn't have the Andoran Model JJII jump jets, everyone knows that, but what no-one knows is that it had a 200 fusion engine, a Nissan I bet, not the Pitban 240. The Buster 10 must have weighed more, and they had to double the ammo capacity to match the faster rate of fire."

Weddle started laughing. "You're freaking crazy Sigil. You're going to resurrect some old Star League Clint design nobody knows about, carrying some kind of LosTech autocannon no one's ever heard of before. You're a real piece of work. Speaking of battles, I hope the Hauptmann doesn't assign you to guard my flank in whatever mess you cobble together next. I saw your Grasshopper shut down when you tried to fire your first shot at the Second Legion. If I was Hamilton, I would have shoved my PPC up your you-know-where to help you get moving."

Sigil glared back. "I've already put the word out that I'm looking for an Armstrong Buster 10. I think they might still make them on Bainsville, in the Free Worlds League."

-

"What!? You're salvaging the Clint for parts!" Shock was stamped on Sigil's face. "But…"

Hauptmann Henley cut him off with a look as hard as ferrocrete. The one they teach in Officer Candidate School that says resistance is futile.

"Leutnant Sigil, the gyro on that thing is damaged, it's missing its entire right arm and torso, and the fusion reactor shielding is leaking. Don't play stupid with me. We both know the Clint wasn't built well from the start and that finding spare parts is almost impossible. I can't have you in the lance riding some welded together tin can we can't field repair. And I don't care how good a tech you are. My decision is final, deal with it."

Sigil narrowed his eyes cunningly.

"Don't think I don't know what you're thinking, Lt. And, might I add, it's dangerously close to insubordination. Go ahead. I've been looking for an excuse to reassign you. Make my day."  
With that, Hauptmann Henley turned smartly on his immaculately polished boots and left the 'Mech bay, the sharp clicks of his precise military walk echoing off the walls.

Sigil turned back to the severely damaged 40-ton BattleMech with an audible sigh.

Lt. Hamilton's head popped out from around the side of a headless Shadowhawk two bays over.  
"It's what Hauptmann's do. Crush dreams like an Atlas stepping on a Locust. Now stop wasting your time and get over here and help me rebuild this cockpit."

"Why is he always busting my chops!? It's like he's out to get me or something. I mean, HE is the one who got me assigned to this unit. My last commander told me the Hauptmann asked for me by name. Why would he do that if all he wants to do is chew me out and shoot down my ideas faster than a Spider sprinting for cover."

A conspiratorial look passed across Hamilton's face. "You didn't hear this from me, but," Hamilton edged closer as his voice dropped to a low whisper.

"Look at all the salvage we got from the attack on the supply depot." Hamilton's head motioned towards a Jenner, Panther, Clint, Shadowhawk, Griffin, and a towering Battlemaster, all tucked into various 'Mech bays. Sure, they're all trashed except the Battlemaster and the Shadowhawk, but the Hauptmann has a plan." A grin broke out across his face.

"See, all of us. Me, you, Weddle, and the Hauptmann. All of our tours of duty end this year. What are you going to do after? You going to re-up with the Guard? Head back home? Get a real job?" Hamilton was laughing now.

"Not me. I was MechWarrior before. I'm a MechWarrior now. And I'm going to be a MechWarrior until The Last JumpShip comes to take me home." Hamilton's eyes gleamed brightly in the dimly lit repair bay.

"Of course, to be a MechWarrior, you need a 'Mech." His eyes drifted meaningfully across all of the repair bays filled with salvaged 'Mechs.

"The Hauptmann is planning something. Smart money says he wants to start his own unit. Even smarter money says he's going to start it with this salvage right here." Hamilton crouched down as he continued, his voice barely a whisper.

"The Good Hauptmann Henley conveniently omitted the capture of these 'Mechs from his post battle report. I just happened to see a copy of it. Now, why would he do that I wonder? How incredibly un-Hauptmann-like don't you think?"

Not even the near darkness could hide the huge grin on Hamilton's face.

Sigil's mouth slowly formed into an "O" as his eyes widened into saucers. A few strangled mutterings escaped from his throat.

Hamilton nodded as he continued. "Mmhmm. And what does every good merc outfit need, besides 'Mechs…"

"Techs!" The word exploded from Sigil's mouth like flight of LRMs.  
Hamilton stood back up. "Yep. Now get your scrawny butt up that scaffolding and help me rebuild me Shadowhawk's cockpit."

-

"I knew it! Sure, I was off a bit here and there, but I nailed the basic concept! I'm going to download the memory core from that Clint's Sloane 220 targeting and tracking system and take it over there. I bet with the advanced diagnostic equipment they've got, they'll be able to pull out even more than I did. I'm telling you, there is a magic Clint configuration in there somewhere. And with a little help, and a bit of luck, maybe I can resurrect it. Man, Snord's got all the cool tech! God, I'd work for them for free if they'd just give me access to their cache of Star League electronics. Thanks, man, for getting for me an in with them. Oh, and no need to mention it to the Hauptmann."  
Sigil nodded in appreciation.

"Sure, Sig, no problem. Just let me know if you find out anything about that enhanced PPC I've heard rumors about. I'd love to surprise one of those pesky Second Legion Jenners with a PPC bolt at point blank."

Weddle walked away chuckling.

-

"LT. SIGIL! WHAT IN BLAKES BLOOD DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING!?" The Hauptmann's face was twisted with rage. "I GAVE YOU A DIRECT ORDER TO STOP WORKING ON THAT CLINT!" His face was slowly turning purple.

"Sir, You said…."

The Hauptmann was howling now. "DON'T TELL ME WHAT I SAID! I SHOULD BUST YOUR BUTT BACK TO PRIVATE AND ASSIGN YOU TO A COOLANT TRUCK!"

His gaze swept over the partially dissembled cockpit and the rat's nest of cables running from it into a nearby terminal. Taking a deep breath, he paused to smooth the creases of out of his crisp Lyran Guard uniform.

"This is your final chance, Lt. Sigil. If I see you within LRM range of that Clint, the next thing you'll see is the inside of a military court. Is that clear?"

"But, Sir…"

"IS THAT CLEAR!?"

"Sir, if I could just…"

Suddenly, Lt. Weddle's voice came from across the 'Mech Bay. "Hauptmann, sir. The Rhonda Irregular's liason officer requests to speak with you. She's in the conference room."

The Hauptmann snapped a vibroblade sharp 180 degree turn, and with his back turned towards Sigil, said "Clean this mess up. Report to my office at 18:30."

His bootfalls echoed with a thump like mortar rounds as he exited the repair bay.

-

Capt. Deb H'Chu was lounging comfortably in the conference room. Her Star League uniform, one of the strange affectations of the Irregulars, was a surprise to anyone who'd never dealt with the Irregulars before. The only thing keeping if from being an exact replica was their unit insignia, an ancient terran quarter-dollar coin. As the Hauptmann entered, she slid her boots off the table, and stood up.

"Hauptman Henley. Thank you for meeting with me so promptly. I was just getting comfortable. I know how most House Units like to keep us mercs waiting."

She chuckled and continued. "I'm sure you're familiar with the reputation of Rhonda's Irregulars, both our obsession with collecting interesting antiquities, and our issues following the traditional chain of command. It's quite refreshing to meet another commander with similar proclivities."

She smirked.

The Hauptman pulled out a chair out from the conference table and sat down, giving the Captain a disinterested look.

H'Chu walked over next to him, sitting on the edge of the conference table causally.

"We had a Boomerang in your area. I watched the holovids of your engagement with the 2nd Legion. Frankly, we expected the worst. Your heavy lance against a company of Kurita veterans." She paused whistling.

"The chance for success was minimal. The Guards were just going through the motions to support our assault on the capital. Rhonda had her command lance on the way, as soon as she had your drop coordinates, to finish the job. That supply depot had to be taken to secure our flank before we could assault New Egypt proper."

She flashed the Hauptman a crooked smile. "Of course, by the time Rhonda got there, your lance was in full possession of the depot, and the field was littered with a company worth of 2nd Legion 'Mechs. Mission accomplished. Give my compliments to the Awesome pilot. He's one serious ace. I saw the vid of him taking the head off that Hunchback just as the engagement began, then watched those triple PPCs cut down 'Mech after 'Mech from the bluff he stationed himself on."

She looked at the Hauptman curiously. "The one thing that struck me as funny was the 'Hopper pilot, though. Looked like his 'Mech shut down early, even though it was cool as ice on the IR sensors. I'm not sure I saw him land a single shot during that entire engagement."

She laughed. "And talk about tactics! When most of the remaining 2nd Legion 'Mechs shifted their fire to the Awesome, he charges off, scraps a Panther with a kick to it's torso, and then jumps into the middle of the lake, exposing his rear to more than a lance of enemy 'Mechs,! All to take the heat off his lancemate! Blakes Blood! He couldn't jump back out since the JJs are in the legs! Looked suicidal to me, but it got the job done."

She was laughing freely now. "I don't think he managed to get out of that lake until the battle was over!"

The Hauptman regarded her coolly. "Capt., if your purpose inviting me here was to congratulate me, I was just doing my job. Hauptmann-General Habaugh gave me an assignment. I executed it to the best of my ability. If that is all, I have other duties requiring my attention."

H'Chu looked away and sighed, then fixed the Hauptman with a steely gaze. "Ok, fine. I'll get straight to the point. You have something we want, and we have something you need." Reaching into her back pocket, she slid a tablet toward Henley.

"It's your after action report. There is a peculiar omission in it, Hauptman." She came down hard on his rank. "Would you like me to tell you what is it?" Now, she smiled sweetly.

The Hauptman glanced down at the tablet, his eyes narrowing as his face tightened.

She continued sweetly, "You've got an entire 'Mech bay filled with 'Mechs that don't officially exist. Normally," she tossed her raven black hair back and laughed, "we wouldn't care. Hell, it reminds me of something Rhonda would do herself! But, it so happens, that one of them is a Star League prototype CLNT-1-2R and we want it."

Henley looked up from the table, his face expressionless. "Interception of classified House communiqués is a Class 2 offense punishable under the Mercenary Review Board. You could lose your AAA rating."  
D'Hu flashed a smile as she shifted closer to Henley on the table. "A man who knows his rules. I like that. But how about this instead? The Irregulars will transport all of your salvage back to our base on Clinton, and once your tour with the Guard is finished, you come pick them up, sans the Clint of course."

"And," her green eyes sparkled, "a recommendation from the Irregulars can be worth a great deal to a newly founded merc unit looking to land their first contract."

D'Hu hopped off the edge of the conference table, collecting her tablet. "Think about it, Hauptman. You can't leave those 'Mechs in there forever. Oh, and you should know that Lt. Sigil was the one who discovered the Clint was actually a 1-2R. He was walking around showing off some very interesting ballistics profiles he pulled of its T&T system. Quite talented, but you better keep an eye on him. I know some people at Asgard back on Tharkard that would love to see that data."

She sauntered off.

-

Chapter 2

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

Tai-sa Michael Heise looked at his executive office, Chu-sa Hiyama Yamoto.

"What course of action would you recommend, Chu-sa?" he asked as he stroked his graying goatee.

Hiyama paused thoughtfully. Her grey eyes straying to the bonsai tree sitting on his gunmetal desk.

"New Eqypt is a fortified position. Our Sho-sas are all familiar with the layout, and the garrison commander is a competent man. He has already identified a number of locations where we could mount effective ambushes. Our combat engineers can rig strategically located buildings to collapse, destroying, delaying, and/or funneling the 3rd Lyran to where we want them. We hold a strong defensive position here. The Lyrans would pay dearly if they assault. However, they do hold a numerical advantage after the loss of 2nd company at the supply depot. Even considering that, I believe we can hold New Egypt against them with acceptable losses."

Heise's spoke softly, "For how long, Hiyama, how long?"

"We hold the StarPort, the seat of government, and the HPG station. The Lyran supply lines are longer even than are own, and the population is hostile towards them. I flip the question back on you, Tai-sa. How long, could they maintain an effective siege on us?"

Her eyes snapped back to him.

"A good recitation of conventional military doctrine. I see your studies at An Ting University taught you well. I ask you to consider this Wisdom of the Dragon, Chu-sa Yamoto. Know thy enemy."

Yamoto tried to cover her confusion. "We know the unit compositions of the 3rd Lyran and their mercenary allies. The 3rd Lyran are a fanatically loyal battle tested veteran unit. But the 2nd Legion has fought them before and defeated them. A worthy adversary to whom we will deny revenge."

"And your assessment of Snord's Irregulars?"

"Insubordinate, pillaging and looting dogs!" Yamoto's eyes flared to life. "Concerned only for their own profit and gain. Utterly undependable. No respect for the military chain of command. But, they do field numerous Star-League era 'Mechs and are considered skilled MechWarriors. Their advanced equipment certainly grants them an edge, which is undoubtedly how they have managed to survive for so long."

Heise shook his head slowly, disappointment registering briefly in his eyes. "Put on their neurohelmet, Chu-sa. Look at the situation through their eyes. The 3rd Lyran will be overconfident from their complete victory at the supply depot. They will be overestimating the capability of their own forces, while simultaneously underestimating the capability of ours. We can salvage that much at least from Cho-sa Kito's abysmal attempt at defending the depot which guarded the secondary route into the city. The Hauptman-General will feel certain he's got us up bottled up inside New Egypt and on the defensive. A reasonable assessment."

Heise's eyes drifted over towards the calligraphy hanging framed on the walls of his utilitarian office. "The motivation of the Lyrans is self-evident. Consider the Irregulars, however. I am a student of contemporary military history. Perhaps the instructors at An Ting don't see the value in it. Wing, Danais, Nestor, Rochelle, Shiloh, Phecda. The Irregulars fought on all of these worlds. Do you know what all of those worlds have in common, Chu-sa Yamoto."

Yamoto gave a quick horizontal shake of her head. "What, Tai-sa?"

Heise returned to stroking his greying goatee. "Valuable antiquities," he paused, then looked directly into her eyes, "or lost Star League facilities. The Irregulars consistently pick their assignments based on the probability of a planet possessing one or the either. Rare book collections, antique musical instruments, lost SLDF DropShips, the Jewel of Sumatra, even the original throne of the Usurper Stefan Amaris."

Tasi-sa Michael Heise gave one of his rare smiles. "Chu-sa, assemble The Legion. Nothing is more dangerous than a wounded Dragon."

-

Rhonda Snord was aboard the Junk Yard, the unit's Union-class Dropship. She grinned, remembering the story of how her father had won it from Melvin McFinney in a poker game some 30 years ago. The unit had come a long, long way since then. She had taken over from her father just 5 years ago, and then convinced him to allow her to field the Star League 'Mechs they had accumulated over their years of raiding SLDF caches. The ComGuards had just rolled them out, so what shouldn't they, her reasoning had gone.

She gazed fondly at the steel bulkheads of the Junk Yard. It had been with them since the beginning. It was practically a good luck charm. She still vividly remembered escaping Alexandria in it. That campaign had been against the Dragon as well.

"What have you got for me, Stephen?"

The communications tech was pointing towards a large radar display, it's hand sweeping across in slow circles as it updated information.

"Two Kurita Leopard class DropShips launched from the StarPort. Shortly after, a conventional transport wing took off from the airfield. 3 PlanetLifters." He whistled. "Both had Aerospace and conventional fighter escort. They want to be sure they get to wherever they're going, I'd say. They just blew right through the light air cover that was up."

Rhonda's six sense began to tingle. It's something all successful commanders needed, and she was lucky enough to have. That little sensation that lets you know something big is about to happen, so you'd better be prepared. Every campaign has one, the axis point, the singular moment when it's all perfectly balanced and one little move can shift the momentum of the entire campaign. Winners and losers aren't always determined on the battlefield, they are also decided in moments like these.

She snapped around looking for her XO. "Deb, get the 1st wing in the air, now! I want Nikmen, Horr, and Brekner on the *** of those PlaneLlifters. Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage. I just want to know where they're going."

She turned next to Shorty, barely pausing. "Call all the Irregulars in. It's time to load up and move out. I want this bucket off the ground in 30 minutes!"

She came full circle, returning her attention back to the communications officer, Stephen. Deb and Shorty were already barking orders to anyone and everyone nearby as they climbed the ladder down from the bridge. "Open up a comlink to the 3rd Lyran. Put a lot of static and video interference in it."

She brushed down her Star League uniform, standing straight as a grainy image of the 3rd Lyran officer-on-duty flickered in and out. "This is Commanding Officer Rhonda Snord of Snord's Iregulars. We are lifting off in pursuit of the two Kurita DropShips. Please secure the area and alert any nearby units. Liftoff in T minus 28."

Even the distortion of the signal couldn't hide the surprise on the Lyran officer's face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few seconds before he finally managed to get something out. "You need a release authorization for your DropShip, sir. This is highly irregular, sir."

Rhonda couldn't keep herself from laughing, saying simply, "Your damn straight!" Then she motioned for Stephen to kill the connection. "Tell Capt. Quinn, we're leaving with whoever manages to get on board in the next," she looked down at her watch, "25 minutes. No waiting, period."

With that, she flung herself down the bridge ladder and sprinted off to help secure her command lance for departure. Her voice came booming up one final time, "Keep an eye on those Kurita transports, and I want updates from Wing 1 the second they have any, patch it directly to my comset!"

-

The Junk Yard's four giant altitude engines roared to life, blasting the surrounding area with superheated plasma. The old DropShip shuddered as it fought against the planet's gravity, slowly but surely winning. Not all of the Irregulars had made it back in time, but Rhonda has expected that. The Junk Yard could only hold a company worth of them anyhow, and every bay was full. Her entire company had made muster, she grinned. Her command lance, Lt. Shake's attack lance led by his Bombadier, and Lt. Tomlinson's Recon lance headed by his Mercury. A formidable force.

She had left Captain H'Chu behind to take command of the remaining Irregulars. Shortly was with her on the bridge. Rhonda chuckled, well Deb was the liaison officer, let her sort out the mess, and smooth the ruffled feathers. She was good at that sort of thing, anyway.

She strolled back over to the Comm Tech. "Got anything, Stephen?"

His chair spun 180 degrees to face her, his brows wrinkled and his head shaking. "I keep looking at the telemetry data on those two Kurita flights. I also managed to pull some aerial surveillance images from one of our Boomerangs. I swear both the Leopards and the PlanetLifters left New Egypt empty. There's no indication they were ever loaded, and given their airspeed and altitude, I just can't help but think they've got to be empty. No way they could have loaded all those transports right under our noses and nobody saw anything."

He looked up at her puzzled, as he continued. "The Leopards look like they're going to enter a low planet orbit, their trajectory doesn't have them linking up with the Kurita JumpShip. The PlanetLifters," he swiveled back, tapped his console, and projected a holographic display of the planet, "I can only guess where they're headed. If they maintain heading, maybe this cluster of volcanic islands here, but as far as we know there's nothing there. It just doesn't make any sense to me. There isn't anything of strategic value anywhere near there!"

Rhonda stared at the rotating planet hologram lost in thought. "Nothing we know of, Stephen, nothing we know of…"

She turned back, "I'll be in the ready room, let me know if anything changes, and I mean anything. Shorty, join me."

-

Shorty Sneede looked at her. Rhonda had practically grown up around him. A close friend of her father, Shorty was technically the most senior combat active member of the Irregulars. Completely reliable, he had years of hard won combat wisdom. A soldier's solider. She often sought his advice when Cranston wasn't around. Which was almost always the case now since his heart attack. Cranston spent almost all of his time now running their operations on Clinton.

Shorty continued looking at her, a grin slowly breaking across his face. "*******, Rhonda! A thirty-minute muster, blowing off the 3rd Lyran chain of command, 1st wing in pursuit. What the hell is going on, and where in Blake's Blood are we going?! You're just like your father, and don't be so sure that's a compliment!" He chuckled. "You gonna see fit to fill me in, or what?"

Rhonda tossed a readout to Shortly. "Take a look at this. Cranston took this assignment because of that. A SLDF BattleMech weapons research facility. He wanted us to check it out, see if there was anything left. He wasn't sure it even existed, but our Lyran friends salvaged a Star League prototype CLNT-1-2R when they took the supply depot. I wonder where that came from? It had been retrofitted to look like a 2-3T, but still retained all of the original advanced electronics. There's something here, I can smell it, Shorty! All those Kurita transports are empty. They're going to pick up something, and I have a feeling I might want it."

Suddenly, the entire DropShip began to rattle violently and then lurched dangerously to one side sending Rhonda and Shorty sliding down the now angled floor fighting to maintain their balance. A fraction of a second later, the alarm klaxons started screaming, the power flickered once in warning then failed entirely, and for just a moment, the entire DropShip was deathly quiet. Then the backup generators kicked on, the klaxons began to scream once more, and the emergency lighting lit the room.

-

Chapter 3

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

Lt. Davis's recon lance was conducting a routine perimeter check along the outskirts of New Egypt. Always wary of Legion Panthers, he kept his lance at least 600m away from the line of now abandoned buildings that could serve as potential cover. He was used to seeing the Panthers by now, and sure enough there they were. Two of them, perched like gargoyles atop a pair of derelict buildings. And not far from them a pair of Jenners atop two more buildings. Of course the JR7-Ds were strictly short ranged fighters, fast though. They topped out at over 100kph so they could close in a hurry if they wanted. He rotated the torso of his 30-ton Valkyrie right to track them as his lance passed by.

His Devastator LRM-10 had a good 90m on the Lord's Light PPCs the PNT-9R's carried. He painted one of them with his Sync Tracker and chuckled. Keep 'em honest.

The lance was traveling in a staggered line. Daniel's Wasp and Amy's CMD-2D were ahead and to the left of him, and Gerad's CMD-1D was bringing up the rear.

That's odd. Lt Davis hit the magnification on his sensor display. Was there something inside the building? The 9R ought not generate a magnetic signature that large.

He opened his comlink. "Gerad, run a full active scan with your Star Shark on that building the Panthers on. Coordinates 76.5 x 66.7. All right, Swords, look sharp, match my speed, stay in tight formation. I got a funny feeling."

Gerad slowed his Commando, twisting his torso to the right as he did so, initiating a full spectrum active scan of the building and surrounding area. As the results began to paint across his HUD, his 'Mech missile lock warning suddenly started blaring, bathing his cockpit red from the danger lights. Reflexively, he accelerated, leveling the heavy laser in his left arm at the Panther atop the building. "Target out of range" danced over the silhouetted Kurita mech.

"Lt.! I swear there's something inside of that building, and it's frickin' big! The mag scan estimates 70 ton plus!"  
At that same moment, the light lance of 2nd Legion 'Mechs all leapt forward in perfect concert, gouts of flame pouring out of their legs and torsos as they sailed off the tops of the buildings. Seconds later, the buildings themselves disintegrated, as the light Kurita 'Mech's hit the ground running and opened fire.

-

Chu-i Mia smiled in satisfaction as she watched the scanning Commando's right arm vaporize in the particle stream from her Panther's Lord's Light PPC, leaving it with only it's SRM-4 to defend itself. Her lancemate was enjoying similar success, his PPC destroying the entire leg of the 3rd Lyran Wasp, sending it spinning in a slow circle then crashing to the ground. Both Jenners had accelerated to maximum speed fanning out on either side of the Lyran Valkyrie and were closing rapidly.

Tai-i Hiro pushed his 80-ton STK-3F Stalker forward, it's spherical nose collapsing what remained of the exterior walls of the building he was concealed in. He already had the scanning Commando locked in with his dual Jackson LRM-10's, and thanks to the Spar 3c Tight Band targeting system, he also had a lock on the Commando with his torso mounted Magna Mk. III heavy lasers. With grim precision he triggered them all, his 'Mech shuddering as the missiles leapt towards their target and the twin lasers coalesced on the beleaguered 'Mech.  
The other three buildings revealed their deadly contents as well. The huge battlefist of an AWS-8Q Awesome shattered the wall, followed by the first of it's three Kruess particle projection cannons, its long barrel shoving the rest of the wall easily away from it's massive body. The night sky was lit by a trio of azure bolts arching towards the second of the Lyran Commandos.

The remainder of the 2nd Legion assault lance emerged as well. Two Doombud 15-Racks blossomed into the sky from the shoulders of a Kurita ARC-7K Archer, supplemented by it's pair of large lasers. And finally, a WHM-6K Warhammer, it's huge arm mounted Donal PPC's pouring forth death onto the halpless Lyran recon lance.

-

It all happened with terrifying slowness. Davis felt like a spectator, his body refusing to react with the same speed as his mind as the Kurita assault lance revealed itself. No sooner had Gerad confirmed the mag scan, then all four of the Kurita 'Mechs came roaring down from their perches. Daniel's Wasp was down in seconds, it's leg annihilated by an advancing Panther. Robbed of its mobility, it was already basically scrap.

Gerad, who'd eased his 'Mech in a little closer to run the active scan, fared even worse. The other Panther's PPC took of his left arm, but the real threat came from the 80-ton assault 'Mech thundering out of the building,  
belching long range misses and a pair of heavy lasers. With the right arm already missing, many of the LRMs exploded against the right torso, stripping away the armor in seconds then blowing out the internal structure behind it. One of the large lasers missed wide, but the second hit dead center on the torso. Gerad's Commando, now missing it's entire right side, and showing internal on it's center torso, sagged and then went down face first into the ground, trashing the gyro as it hit. He had never even managed to fire.

Davis's eyes darted towards Amy's Commando just in time to see two of the three Kruess heavy particle cannons slam one after another into her 'Mechs left torso, the third sending a geyser of dirt and rock up at her feet. But that was all it took. The SRM-6 ammo was stored in the left torso and the second PPC shot set it off. In a blink the eye, Amy's 25-ton Commando exploded like a firework, raining down flaming steel and armor fragments where she had stood only seconds before.

Finally, his body caught up with his mind as he stared down the pair of Jenners. They split to either of side of him moving at over 100 kph. He slammed down the pedals to the Valkyrie's jump jets, turning 90 degrees in mid-air as he jumped away from the coming doom. He knew it was too late when he heard the missile lock indicator. Twin Doombud LRM-15s rained down on his thin rear armor, laying the internal structure bare with the first of multiple impacts. The two Jenners tracking him at a full run both unleashed devastating alpha strikes. Eight Agra 3L medium lasers, and a pair of Thunderstroke SRM-4's all reached up to greet him as tried desperately to jump away. The Valkyrie was heavily armored for a light 'Mech, but even it could only withstand so much punishment. When the right rear armor was breached, he knew it was all over. The only thing in there was his LRM-10 ammo. His last thought was, had he even fired?

-

Tai-sa Michael Heise throttled his Hatamoto-Chi into a run as he passed through the outskirts of New Egypt. The 80-ton 'Mech had been a gift from Gunji-no-Kanrei Theodore Kurita himself when he was given command of the 2nd Legion. He would never forget the Kanrei's words at the transfer of command ceremony.

"Tai-sa, the 2nd Legion is like this Hatamoto-Chi," the Kanrei began as he motioned to the shining, newly manufactured assault 'Mech towering over them. "A failed design, now reborn with the savage visage of the Samuari, and just as deadly. Teach the men and women under your command the code of Bushido that they may restore their honor, just as this Hatamoto-Chi has done."

The Hatamoto-Chi was based on the maligned and derided CGR-1A1 Charger. Originally built as a heavy scout unit, its armament consisted exclusively of five Magna Mk I light lasers, limiting its threat range to a paltry 90 meters. Shortly after Wells Technologies delivered the 'Mech to the Star League, the SLDF withdrew it from service due to it's problematic performance and terrible reputation. Only the beginning of the Succession Wars saved the company and the 'Mech. Desperate for BattleMechs of any kind, the Combine bought large numbers of them.

But, over the past five years, Luthien Armor Works, who acquired the Wells Technology licenses and industrial facilities, had entirely reworked the 80-ton design, and retooled the production and assembly lines. The redesign carried the HTM-26T designation. With a pair of arm mounted Tiegart PPCs supplemented with two Bical short range 6-racks, the Chi could punch holes in enemy armor, and then exploit those holes with a full salvo of twelve short ranged misses. Plus, she carried almost as much armor as the legendary dreadnaught, the Awesome. She'd be a hard, dangerous kill.

Heise glanced out of the side of the cockpit. Chu-sa Hiyama Yamoto was keeping pace with him in his old CP 10-Z Cyclops. If there was one thing he missed about his former 'Mech, it was the Tacticon B-2000 battle computer. Capable of projecting a real-time holographic topographical display of the entire battlefield right down to the individual unit, while simultaneously coordinating regiment wide communications, including DropShips and JumpShips in the planetary orbit, it was the premiere mobile command, control, and communications platform as far as he was concerned. And of course, he chuckled, any 'Mech with a Zeus-36 Mark III AC/20 demanded respect, especially when it carried four tons of ammunition for the devastating heavy caliber cannon.

His command lance was rounded out by a pair of upgraded DRG-1G Grand Dragons, another gift from the Kanrei. The original Imperator-A autocannon had been replaced by a Lord's Thunder PPC, an additional Victory 23R medium laser, and two more heat sinks. The new weaponry, when combined with the existing Telos DecaCluster LRM and two more Victory lasers, made the Dragon a formidable opponent indeed. And with a top speed of 86 kph, it was fast enough to guard his flank and react quickly to approaching threats.

Hesie opened his comlink as his lance passed the still smoking remains of a Lyran Commando. "Chu-sa Yamoto, status report." He was still getting used to the idea that he had to depend on her to be his eyes and ears.

"Futao and Yattsu lances have penetrated the perimeter defenses and are proceeding north-north-east. Iyorozu lance is approximately a quarter kilometer behind them. Hatachi lance 900m behind Iyorozu, providing anti-aircraft cover. Yasoji lance is behind us as rear guard. No significant battle damage. A medium Lyran lance, designated Striker, is on a vector that will bring them into contact with Fuato and Yattsu in approx. 3 minutes. Four Lyran light 'Mechs have been destroyed. I'm also starting to pickup alot of encrypted communications."

Heise nodded, so the battle for New Egypt has begun he thought grimly. "Hiyama, triangulate the Lyran communications and route Futao and Yattsu to the area. They are not, repeat not, to engage element Striker. Direct them to skirt around the enemy position. The Lyrans will launch air elements shortly. Mark where they take off and cross-reference it with the triangulated communications position. Hatachi lance priority is to deny them aerial intelligence. Vector Iyorozu to intercept Striker. Keep them in a tight, supporting formation. Hatachi can provide fire support as needed once any aerial assets are eliminated. I want the Lyran's blind for as long as possible. Update me on the Irregualr's DropShip as warranted."

Heise had reconfigured the remaining two companies of Legion 'Mechs specifically for this assault. Futao and Yattsu lances were composed of the fastest, most maneuverable 'Mechs in the Legion, and most of them were jump capable as well. Spiders, Locusts, and Jenners, as well as an odd Cicada and Assassin. The lances could travel at a sustained rate of over 100 kph . Once the Lyran field command post had been located, they'd move in like lightning and knock it out. Actually, more like fiery dragon's breathe and he allowed himself a smile.  
-

Chapter 4

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

Lt. Grant blinked twice at the display, then watched as the radar trace completed another full rotation. Swiveling his chair 180 degrees, he called to the Officer-on-Duty.

"Sir, we've lost contact with Lt. Davis's recon lance. It just disappeared. I mean, one sweep all four were there, then next," he snapped his fingers, "poof, just gone! All four of them!"

Hauptman Rachael Miles's young face was creased by a frown. "Are you sure your equipment is working properly, Lt? What was the last contact you had with them?"

He turned his chair back to his console shrugging his shoulders, his finger stabbing the display. "Here's Charlie Lance. There's Hauptmann Thackerly in his Thunderbolt, Lt. Jones in his Wolvertine, Lt. Early's Catapault, and Lt. Simpson's Centurion. See, they're moving. Looks like the radar is working fine to me, Sir. The last transmission we had from Lt. Davis was a request for his lancemate to run a full active scan of one the buildings on the periphery of New Egypt. Coordinates 76.5 x 66.7."

Grant's fingers flew over the touchscreen, pulling up an enhanced aerial display of the outskirts of New Egypt. High-resolution aerial photographs were overlaid on the topography of the area, along with extensively labeled road and waterway navigational maps. His finger slid across the screen pointing to what looked like a small concrete apartment building. "Right here." The image snapped larger, then larger, and larger once more. "He picked up some kind of an magnetic anomaly inside of it."

Hauptman Miles's frown deepened as she leaned in for a closer look at the display. You could hide a 'Mech in there, maybe even a big one. "Open a comlink to Hauptman Thackerly."

"Hauptman Thackerly, this is Hauptman Miles, Officer-on-Duty, Field HQ Beta. Protocol Omega-Foxtrot-Delta-Niner. We just lost contact with our recon lance on perimeter duty. I'm sending you the coordinates now. Proceed to the area and report. Over."

A country twang erupted from the speakers. "What a sweet voice you have, darling! Why you could ask me to do anything and I would! Coordinates received. In route. Over."

Trying as hard as she could to stop it, Rachael's face turned bright red anyway. Grant was trying equally hard to stifle his laughter, and failing just as badly. "Just watch your ***, Thackerly. I'm going to launch the birds, and wake the Kommandant. Over."

His laughter flooded over the link. "I'd rather be watching yours, Rach! Will advise. Over."

Her eyes drilled into the back of Lt. Grant who was trying his best be to completely absorbed in examining the apartment building, rotating the view slowly around. "I want the Boomerang and the Warriors in the air and en route in the next five minutes!" Satisfied, she executed a precise military turn and headed towards the miniscule sleeping quarters at the rear of the mobile headquarters to wake the Kommandant.

Kommandant John Tomlinson was awake in an instant. Rolling out his bunk, he slapped the stimkit he kept strapped to his thigh. Synthetic hormones and neurotransmitters flooded his system snapping him fully alert in a momentarily disorienting flash.

"Report, Hauptman." He had already covered the 20 feet and was standing in the command center. She rushed to catch him.

"We've lost contact with Lt. Davis's recon lance which was assigned perimeter duty. Hauptman Thackerly's lance is en route to investigate, and I've ordered the Boomerang and Warrior VTOLs to assist in locating."

She gestured to the main display wall. "Lt. Grant, pull up the aerial, mark the last known location of the recon lance, a blow-up of the apartment building, and show Charlie lance's present location as well."

"Lt. Davis was investigating a magnetic anomaly in this building here when we lost contact." She explained.  
The Kommandant's mind raced. A raid? A full-scale assault? Would the snakes really come out of their fortified positions in the city? He narrowed his eyes, as he turned to Hauptman Miles.

"Get Renfro and Don up and into their 'Mechs. Have Sargent Major Velasqez form up the rest of his platoons and reinforce the perimeter. I want the Scorpion and the Galleons out there too. We might have some visitors this evening, and I want to be sure they receive a proper reception. Davis, get me GHQ." He wasn't taking any chances.

As if to underscore his thought, the whump, whump of the VTOLs spinning up filtered in from outside as Rachel sprinted out the door.

-

Sho-sa Ayamo Uzori's ASN-101 Assassin literally flew over the ground. With a top speed of 118 kph and a jump capability of 150 meters, there wasn't another 'Mech in existence that could match her maneuverability. As she glanced out of the side of her cockpit, much to her chagrin, she saw the pair of SDR-5D Spiders attached to her small command.

The Spider was the single 'Mech that could, in fact, claim to be more maneuverable. She watched them pass her own 'Mech, racing ahead at a full 130 kph. It's Pitban LFT-10 jump jets could launch the 30-ton 'Mech a full 240 meters. Not only that, the unique jump jet control system allowed the 'Mech to change direction mid-jump. It was almost impossible to pin them down, and just as hard to simply target the nimble thing. It wasn't heavily armed, however. Sure, the single Aberdovey Mk II medium laser was the finest available, but even it wasn't exactly considered a weapon capable of taking down another 'Mech. A pair of short range Akrum flamers mounted one on each arm, rounded out the armament of the 5D.

"This is a sign," she spoke softly to herself. "Humility. Even the tsunami begins as a small wave far out to sea. We are the ripples that will grow into a tidal wave of vengeance."

She opened her comlink. "Futao! Yattsu!" she barked. "Maintain formation!" The Spiders, and an errant Locust slowed, and before long her eight 'Mechs were once again evenly spaced, fanned out on either side of her. She smiled. They actually looked like a wave.

They raced ahead eating up klick after klick at an astonishing rate.

-

Hauptman Thackerly's Thunderbolt thundered across the plains throwing up huge clods of dirt in its 65-ton wake. He thumbed his com circuit. "Jones, break formation, and get out ahead of us, you three legged mongrel! Don't worry about your six, we'll be right behind you. I wanna know what's out there ASAP! Early, take my right flank, Simpson, left. Let's move people!"

Lt. Jones throttled his WVR-6R Wolverine to it's maximum speed of 86 kph, just barely 10 kph faster than his lancemates, and began to slowly pull ahead.

Jones kept one eye on the view screen, and the other on the sweeps of the Garret T11b. The Hauptman was a good two-thirds a kilometer behind him when the red pips signifying enemy units appeared far off to the west at the extreme range of his tracking system. He automatically adjusted his heading to a rough intercept as he toggled his com.

"Thack! I've got 'em! Enemy 'Mechs," he whistled, "and moving fast! The whole unit is moving at 100+ kph! I'm working out their heading now... Electronics ID on a Locust, Spider, Cicada, another Locust... a Jenner... too far for visual confirmation. The Garret gives them a heading of 160 degress... "

Jones tried to slam his throttle further forward, cursing as he discovered his Wolverine just didn't have any more speed to give. He was already maxed out at 86.4 kph. "I'm losing them Thack! They've changed course... they've got a good 30 kph on me!" The comlink filled with his cursing.

Hauptman Thakerly's voice was uncharacteristically tight. "Jones, let it go, return to formation. At least we have some idea of what's out there. Calling it in."

"Charlie Lance to Beta HQ. Hauptman Thackerly, Protocol Niner-Delta-Foxtrot-Omega." His voice was still tense, missing his usual good humor. "Electronics ID on five, repeat five, fast moving enemy 'Mechs. Coordinates 86.9 x 87.8. Last known heading 160 degrees. Speed 100 klicks plus. No visual ID. Data feed incoming. Over."

-

Lt. Grant quickly punched up the data feed from Charlie lance onto the Mobile Headquarter's main display. It showed a small group of fast moving 'Mechs at the far end of the Wolverine's sensor range. They were there for few seconds, altered course, and then disappeared once again out of range. The Garret tracking system had labeled them in black indicating it had only a preliminary identification.

As soon as the replay completed, Kommandant Tomlinson slammed down the proximity danger klaxon, and began barking orders. Hauptman Rachael Miles could hear the warning sirens blaring outside, even through the insulated walls of the HQ.

"Miles, get your *** into your Phoenix Hawk, round up Renfro and Don and establish a first line of defense. I want you three outside the HQ perimeter. Go! Now!"

Rachael rocketed out of the HQ and into what seemed like another world. As the door flew open, the sound of the warning klaxons hit her like physical blow. Infantry were swarming all over the place, the harsh clinking of the metal treads from the APCs, Galleons, and the Scorpion light tank adding to the cacophony. The entire scene was lit in relief from the three quarter moon shining down, which itself looked eerily like a spotlight. Still she managed to grin as she heard Sargent Major Velasqez's voice booming over the clamor, bringing order to the chaos.

She scrambled up the metal ladder, taking two, three steps at a time, flinging herself into the cockpit of her 45-ton war machine. Her neurohelmet settled onto her shoulders, she initiated the startup sequence, bringing the miniature star to life in the PXH-D's GM 270 fusion engine.

Seconds later the Tek Battlecom communications system came online, and she heard the Kommandant's voice on the company frequency. "This is Kommandant Tomlinson. Give 'em hell boys! Transferring tactical command to Hauptman Thackerly. Designation Thor. Batton down the hatches, it's going to be one helluva ride! Over."

Renfro's Hatchetman and Don's Blackjack had already formed up on either side of her Phoenix Hawk, following her as she sprinted out of the HQ perimeter. Her Tru-Trak had already tagged the approaching enemy 'Mechs. "By the Usurper!" she exclaimed watching the two lances of Kurita 'Mechs approach impossibly fast.  
She thumbed the company frequency, "Contact in 90 seconds. Two Locusts, two Spiders, a pair of Jenners, a Cicada and an Assassin. Vector 331, speed over 100 km/h. Good luck. Over."

-

The three Lyran VTOLs, noses down, rotors full tilt, zoomed through the night air. Lt. Furnas's head swept slowly back and forth scanning for the enemy units he knew were out there. Hauptman Miles had already reported contact with a fast moving 2nd Legion raiding party likely planning to attack the field HQ. The unspoken question was, did they take out Davis's lance, or was it something else?

He flipped the secondary Federated Spy Camera to infrared, then quickly reworked the Achernar Air Whistler communications system to switch over to Hauptman Thackerly's encrypted channel and off of Beta HQ's. The Kommandant had passed tactical command to the Hauptman. Now Thackerly would see whatever he saw, and in real-time. He glanced out of either side of his cockpit at the Warrior H-7 attack helicopters flanking him. Time to find out.

Moments later, Furnas found what he was looking for. He slapped the magnification to 20x, then 50x, opening his comlink. "Condor to Thor. Electronic and Infrared ID on unidentified JaegarMech. Coordinates 54.5 x 34.8. No visual. Going in for a closer look. Over."

-

Chapter 5

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

Sho-sa Uzori's Garret 500S painted a picture of the Lyran field headquarter defenses. They were stronger then she had hoped. Three medium 'Mechs, four APCs, three light tanks, and given the APCs, at least four squads of infantry. Only the Phoenix Hawk and the two Galleon light tanks had anything even approaching the speed of her forces. She opened her communications circuit.

"Emiko, Hikaru, engage Galleon Alpha. Hisoka, Chiyo, target Galleon Bravo. Hideo, Goro eliminate the infantry, Yoshio and I will take care of the Phoenix Hawk. High-speed alpha strike pass. Regroup at waypoint Destiny. Maintain maximum speed. For the Kanrei!"

Seconds later, the staccato ring of autocannons filled the air with their deadly streams of depleted uranium armor piercing slugs. The Lyran BJ-1 Blackjack's dual Whirlwind-L autocannons tore up the ground as the pilot walked his fire towards Chiyo's Locust. Uzori watched as the rounds stitched up the Locust's leg, across its torso, then drilled into the Locust's right arm. A bright shower of sparks briefly illuminated the 'Mech, revealing the right arm now dangling uselessly off the 'Mech.

Moments later, the Scorpion's Deleon 5 autocannon opened up. Unable to move its turret fast enough, it spewed its rounds harmlessly wide of its intended target. The tank fire was followed by a broad cerulean beam from the PXH 1-D Phoenix Hawk's Harmon heavy laser. She watched as it streaked directly towards Goro's Spider, vaporizing his 'Mech's entire left arm as it hit.

Uzori heard it a fraction of a second before she felt it. The roar of the HCT-3F Hatchetman's Defiance Killer autocannon. Her Assassin bucked as the screeching of shredding metal filled her violently vibrating cockpit. The deadly stream of bullets relentlessly ate away at the thin armor covering her right torso, then began chewing on the sensitive internal structure beneath it. Her HUD flashed a warning as one of her Lox Lift Series 1 jump jets located there was destroyed, reducing her jump capacity to 120 meters.

Her unit had managed to close to within weapons range without taking any losses. Time for the Dragon's Breathe, she thought grimly to herself as she briefly opened her comlink. "SRMs, fire!"

She had made one very special modification to her ASN-101. Originally equipped with a Holly 5 Long-Range missile rack, she had replaced it with a four-tube Holly Short-Range missile rack. Adding that to the existing Holly SRM-2, and she was able to fire a full salvo of six short ranged missiles. They went screaming off towards the Phoenix Hawk.

The Thunderstroke SRM-4s on Emiko and Hisoka's Jenners launched their deadly cargo as well, as four more missiles erupted from Hikaru's 1S Locust's two Bical Twin-racks. In all, eighteen missiles went streaking off towards their various targets.

The air was criss-crossed with medium lasers as both sides continued to pour fire on each other. The two 30-ton Galleon's fired their Jackson Medium 17's, one going wide, the other burning a line across the leg of Hikaru's 1S. Four Intek medium lasers reached out from the 45-ton Lyran Blackjack, a pair of them boring two more holes into the armor of Chiyo's Locust, and the Phoenix Hawk fired its two Harmon mediums, scoring another hit on Goro's Spider.

Then it was the Hatchetman's turn once more. Twin spears of light from the Hatchetman's Defiance B3M lasers scoured the armor from her right leg and arm. The armor on the entire right side of her 'Mech had been stripped clean away. Half of her Assassin flashed dangerously red on her HUD, the torso already critical. She fought to maintain control of her hurtling machine, the loss of over a ton of armor, and the violent impact of the Defiance Killer, making it a struggle to keep the 'Mech upright.

"Yoshio! Switch targets! Disable that Hatchetman! It's tearing me up!"

She slewed her 'Mech dangerously to the right, firing her single Martell medium laser at the Hatchetman as Yoshio's Cicada fired its two Magna mediums. Two of three shots hit, but both failed to penetrate its armor.

Yoshio, his Cicada maxed out at almost 130 kph, zeroed in on the Lyran Hatchetman as it brought back its gleaming steel axe. Everything slowed to a crawl, as Yoshio experienced a moment of sublime clarity. His life, all of his choices, everything that had happened which had brought him here, to this moment, snapped into focus. This was it. What Tai-sa Heise had promised. A chance to redeem his honor. He trigged his remaining Magna small laser and braced himself for the impact.

Sho-sa Uzori watched in stunned amazement as Yoshio's 40-ton Cicada collided with the Hatchetman at top speed. The Lyran 'Mech's cruel hatchet disappearing deep into the Cicada's boxy torso before they both went down in a jumble of steel and fire. Then she was past.

The two Galleon light tanks were simply blown apart by the heavy firepower of the two combined Jenner/Locust teams, as Hideo and Goro landed their Spiders in a hail of heavy infantry machinegun fire, their Flamers lighting up the night.

Then, the eighteen SRM's exploded. Suddenly, the entire Lyran field headquarters were engulfed in a single, huge, raging firestorm. Great pillars of flame rose above the swirling incendiary cloud of death, marking were the Inferno rounds had impacted.

The Kurita 'Mechs sped through the apocalyptic scene, machine guns and small lasers blazing as they emerged on the far side of the firestorm like avenging angels.

Sho-sa Ayamo Uzori quickly pivoted her damaged Assassin around, surveying the hellish scene. "Hold position at Destiny. Emiko, Hisoka, Hikaru, fire another volley of Infernos, let's bathe these Lyrans in the purifying fires of the Dragon."

As the missiles took flight, a crippled Cicada, practically sheared in half, came limping out of the flames followed by Chiyo's hobbled Locust, one of it's legs entirely locked up. Amazingly, they had all made it through.

The Lyran Blackjack rose out of the maelstrom on it's Whitworth Jetlifters, desperately struggling to escape the fiery miasma below it, but it's 120 meter range was not enough. It hung there suspended for a brief moment, then plummeted back down, disappearing once more into the blazing inferno. Seconds later another huge explosion rocked the burning camp, sending superheated metal shrapnel for hundreds of meters in every direction, as the Blackjack exploded.

Eighteen more missiles exploded over the already decimated Lyran field headquarters. The fires now raging a blinding superheated white. Large explosions continuously rocked the camp as various munitions cooked off in the searing heat, throwing up great gouts of metal and dirt in their fury.

No way anything could survive that, Uzori thought to herself, as she opened her comlink. "Cho-sa Ayamo Uzori. Operation Dragon Breathe successful. En route to waypoint Blossom. Two 'Mechs crippled, sending them back to the Lair. Over."

-

Only Hauptman Rachael Miles instincts and lightning fast reflexes saved her. As the Kurita 'Mechs charged, she loosened an alpha strike at the leading Assassin, then stomped down on her Pitban 9000 jump jets.

The heat was already beginning to rise, when the Inferno rounds exploded, dousing her 'Mech with a white hot burning gel, and sending the cockpit temperature skyrocketing critically high. The life support system groaned audibly under the overwhelming strain, as warning lights began to flash all over her HUD. She could see now that the entire Lyran encampment was aflame. She watched, transfixed, as the two Kurita lances sprinted right through the heart of it, leaving a swath of fiery destruction in their wake.

Finally, understanding the true danger, she suddenly wrenched her control stick violently to the side as she continued to lay on the jump jets, the heat continuing to dump mercilessly over her, in a last ditch gambit to land outside of the flames.

Her mind, sluggish from the hellish temperature inside the cockpit, dimly realized the Phoenix Hawk was falling. The flames rushed up to meet her, and everything went black.

The PXH-1D fell from the sky as its fusion engine shut down, slamming into the ground at the opposite edge of the doomed encampment, flames still licking greedily along it's torched body.

-  
Lt. Bettencourt thought the N&D Handsfree had to be the most accurate targeting and tracking system ever created. As deadly as it was simple. Both the Warrior H-7 helicopter's StarLon 30m Autocannon and it's TharHes 4 Pack Missile System were slaved to it. All he had to do was look at a target and pull the trigger. How could it get any better then that?

"Hey Furn, slow down a bit, would ya? I'd hate to see that Jaeger reach out and touch you in that glider of yours. It's a long way down. And you know what they say, it isn't the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end. Let me and Vess soften 'em up for ya, and give him something to shoot at other then you." He chuckled.

The two H-7s increased their speed to over 160 kph as they swooped down towards the Jaegermech. The thing that the really made the StarLon AC stand out was it's range. At 720m, it outranged every mobile weapons platform known to the Inner Sphere, except of course, another AC/2. Well, then again, those mercs, the Irregulars, had some pretty interesting looking stuff on those SLDF 'Mechs they got from somewhere.

Lt. Furnas swept his unarmored Boomerang in high, and behind, the attacking Warriors, all the while cycling through various image enhancements to the incoming video feed. His senses were tingling. A lone JaegerMech just seemed suspicious. Bad enough it had the Garret D2j, legendary for its ability to target even the fastest aerial unit. He looked at it's electronics profile again. Sure, the D2j was one of the stronger radars, but seriously, that strong?

Then he saw it and instinctively jerked the yoke back, putting the craft into a hard, upward left bank.

"Bettencourt, Vess, get the hell outta there, it's a trap!" He screamed into the com as he ripped an enhanced still from the video feed, beaming it to Hauptman Thackerly.

-

Tai-i Ammee Puri was waiting to see how long it would take the Lyran's to discover the trap she had laid for them. The split second she saw the Boomerang begin to bank, she thumbed her com open, saying simply. "Fire. Over."

As if by magic, the seemingly single JaegerMech split into four. Actually, it was more of an optical illusion then anything else. She had stacked, ok, more like smashed, inline, the entire Hatachi lance. Where once there had been only a single JaegerMech, now there were four. A duplicate JM6-S stepped out from behind the original and to one side of it, a RFL-3N Rifleman from behind it stepped out to the opposing side, and one more came behind it.

She fancied the effect would look vaguely like a macabe version of the choreographed showgirl dances she'd seen somewhere or another, probably on holovid.

The subtle beauty of the plan was that all four 'Mech's used exactly the same communications and T&T systems, both of them made by Garret SatComm. So it was likely either the electronic ID would identify it as a single unit, or the pilot would simply mis-interpret the data. Hell, both 'Mechs were even made by the same company, Kallon Industries, and on practically the same chassis, though the Jaeger was five tons heavier.

On her command, ten autocannons filled the night sky, creating a glowing river of hypervolocity slugs illuminated by red tracer rounds. It reached up, engulfing the Lyran VTOLs. Three explosions, like fireworks during the New Years celebration, briefly graced the sky, fading away like cherry blossoms carried on the wind.

She opened her comlink. "Tai-a Ammee Puri. Aerial assets eliminated. Over."

-

Chapter 6

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

Lt. Sigil was busy snaking a thick power cable up through the right arm of his GRN-5N Grasshopper.

"Hey, Sig, whatcha doin' now?"

"Oh man," Sigil whistled, "remember that Irregular tech you hooked me up with?"

Lt. Weddle nodded as he picked up a large magnetic power coupler.

"You wouldn't believe the stuff he let slip! That enhanced PPC you were asking me about, well…" Sigil gave a devilish grin as he affectionately patted the particle cannon slung underneath his 'Mech's right arm.

"That's right, baby! Woot! See this bad boy right here, well, let me tell you something. Not only does it hit closer…", he paused for effect, "it'll also nail your *** a good 90 meters further away than a standard one. Mmhmm, that's right." Sigil was practically glowing.

Weddle looked skeptical. "Have you actually fired that thing?"

Sigil turned back, twisting and shoving the heavy power cable deeper up the 'Mech's arm.

Sigil frowned. "Well…, umm… not exactly. I ran a ton of simulations though, and it worked almost all of the time. Mind handing me up that power coupler?"

Weddle clambered up the scaffolding and handed Sigil the coupler. He leaned over and started examining the innards of the modified PPC. "So, what'd you do this thing anyway?"

Sigil took the coupler, using it to attach the newly pulled power feed to a high capacitive sub-assembly, which, in turn ran into the familiar electromagnetic coils that created the weapon's awesome power.

He chuckled. "Well, no way I could get my hands on the kinda capacitors and coils the Star League had, so I kinda sorta made my own. Well, not even that exactly. Basically, I'm running two sets of capacitors and coils in parallel and combining them into a single enhanced particle stream. The Irregular tech was explaining the power output and timing the Star League cannons used. As I was listening, it just, wham, hit me! At first, I was going to put them in-line with each other, but…uh… the simulations indicated that may not be the… err… best design…, so I ran them in parallel instead. Man, I can't wait to test this thing!"

Weddle took another skeptical look at the guts of the weapon. "Those coils look kinda close together, don't you think? Man, this thing is going to give a whole new meaning to the word hotshot!" He laughed.

Sigil scowled, and finished securing the power coupler, then turned and started bolting the access hatches back on.

"Does the Hauptman know about this?"

Sigil gave him a flat look.

"I didn't think so. Just be sure your not standing anywhere near my T-bolt when you fire that thing for the first time."

Shaking his head and still chuckling, Weddle clambered back down the scaffolding.

"After you see it in action, you'll be begging me to modify the Kreuss that's on yours!"

They both turned their heads as they heard the familiar clicking of the Hauptman's boots approaching.

"Lt. Sigil, it's good to see you working on your own 'Mech for a change. Perfect timing, too. The 3rd Lyran has lost contact with one of its recon lances patrolling the perimeter of New Egypt. In case they need assistance, I want our lance ready for combat."

Sigil's face was a frozen mask, but his eyes darted down to Lt. Weddle who was looking right back up at him, his look caught somewhere between surprise and serious anxiety.

"That means, NOW, soldiers!" the Hauptman bellowed.

In unison, both Sigil and Weddle responded, "Yes, sir!"

The main Lyran HQ was in chaos. Colonel Hanley Kay was seething with anger as he dressed down Deb H'Chu, the ranking Irregular officer after Colonel Rhonda Snord's abrupt departure on their DropShip, the Junk Yard.

"I don't care what special arrangements you have with the Archon! I don't care if there is a Star League weapons research facility! I don't care if a fleet of McKenna battleships from beyond the Periphery suddenly materialized in orbit! I don't care if your ass is on fire! You DO NOT leave your post without MY authorization! IS THAT CLEAR!?"

H'Chu had her game face on. This wasn't the first time Rhonda had left her holding the bag, and there was no way it was going to be the last either. Sometimes she wondered if Rhonda had promoted her to Captain simply because she was so good at dealing with just this kind of situation. Which, she reflected, was happening more and more often.

"Yes, sir, Colonel, sir. I understand, sir." Her green eyes sparkled at she looked directly into the Lyran commander's eyes. She wore her raven black hair down, cascading off the front and back of her Star League uniform.

"If I may sir, I was just as surprised as you when they launched. I had no prior knowledge, or warning, of Colonel Snord's plans. I find it difficult to deal with her as a Commanding Officer, especially when she leaves me in the dark like this, sir." She gave him her best wide, puppy dog eyes.

He narrowed his eyes dangerously and got right up in her face. "You think I'm going to eat up your plate full of bullshit just because you've got a pretty face!? I'm going to let you in a little secret, Captain. I know you were on the bridge of the Junk Yard just before she launched. So don't stand here and try to make a fool out of me right to my face!" Little wads of spittle exploded from his mouth, spraying H'Chu's face as he continued to rant.

"NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! DISMISSED!"

Captain Deb H'Chu turned, walking out of his office frowning. That didn't go too well.

-

Lt. Thackerly knew he was going to die. It was all there, laid out on his Instatrac Mark X. Six fast attack Kurita 'Mechs were shadowing his lance like a pack of hyenas, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Always just out of LRM range. They wouldn't have to wait much longer. A 2nd Legion assault lance was only moments away from cutting off his last desperate gamble.

The nearest friendly forces were the 3rd Lyran Expeditionary Force. But there was no way they were going to arrive before the assault lance. That assault lance must have been vectored to intercept them before Beta HQ was attacked. Normally, even in his Thunderbolt, he would have had a chance to evade the assaults, but not now.

He opened his comlink for what would probably be his last time. "I'm sorry boys, I truly am. It's been an honor ridin' with ya'll. A man couldn't ask for a better posse. Wish I had a better plan for ya'll, but looks like it's the Little Bighorn for us. Good luck boys, see you on the other side! Now!"

On his mark, the four Lyran 'Mechs all sprinted away each in a different direction. Thackerly was charging the Kurita assault lance, Simpson's Centurion headed straight for the pack of light Kurita 'Mechs, Early's Catapault headed east splitting the two Kurita forces, and Jones in his Wolverine made a play for the west towards the Expeditionary Force base.

Damn, Lt. Jones was a good man, the Hauptman reflected. Smart, funny, always followed orders. Thackerly couldn't help but feel protective of the young Leutanant, and since his Wolverine was the fastest in the lance, he gave him, realistically, the only chance at escape.

Thackerly's T-bolt and the Kurita assault lance both achieved missile lock at the same time.

Fifteen long-range missiles launched out of the T-bolt's shoulder mounted Delta Dart heading for the 2nd Legion Warhammer as he charged recklessly ahead. Both torso missile bays of the Kurita Archer opened as well, vomiting thirty LRMS as the two arm mounted Jackson B5c's of the Stalker added another twenty missiles to the volley.

Then the PPC's opened fire. The Awesome was first, with it's three Kreuss cannons, then the 'Hammer added it's two Donals.

Thirty-six missiles exploded all across the Thunderbolt as four of the particle beams gouged huge chunks of his armor off. But the TDR-5S was built for planetary assault, and in its day, was one of the heaviest 'Mechs available. With thirteen tons of armor, it carried almost as much as the assault class 'Mechs which outweighed him by almost twenty tons.

As he emerged from the cloud of missile explosions, Thackerly triggered his Sunglow Type 2 heavy laser just as he came into range. His single laser was met by four heavies, two each from the Stalker and the 2K Archer. The inevitable warnings began flashing as three of them found their mark, one of them breaching the armor of his right torso.

He grinned like a mad man as he continued to barrel forward, fighting to keep his 'Mech upright as his own LRMs slammed in the 6K 'Hammer and the Sunglow carved half of a ton of armor off it's right leg. If he could just make it in close, maybe, just maybe, he could at least take the 'Hammer with him.

As they closed to within 240 meters of each other, the short ranged weapon systems opened fire. Two Thunderstroke six racks and four Magna Mark II medium lasers spewed forth from the Stalker. The 'Hammer added it's Holly SRM-6 and two Martell mediums to the fire.

Thackerly answered back with his Bical twin-rack, and three Diverse Optics Type 18's. They scored hits all across the 'Hammer's Leviathon Plus armor, failing to breech it, and none of them hitting the vulnerable right leg.

Then the short ranged missiles fell on him like rain, ten of them exploding against his damaged 'Mech, as four of the six medium lasers drilled deep into him. Klaxons screamed at him, followed by the gut wrenching screech of collapsing metal as the entire right side of his T-bolt disintegrated under the concentrated enemy fire. Molten armor and structure fragments cascading off him as the other eight SRMs exploded against the ground all around him. The Bical missile rack destroyed and the Sunglow now gone along with his entire right arm.

He grimaced, as if physically feeling the T-bolt's pain. But he had managed to close with the 2nd Legion 'Hammer. He launched a vicious kick at the 2K, but he already knew, even with 65 tons of heavy metal behind it, it just simply wasn't going to be enough. Armor plates crumpled like paper against his foot, breaching the armor and damaging the structure of the leg, but failing to destroy any of the delicate actuators located there.

The 2nd Legion pilot returned the favor. The Hammer's foot crushing the last of the armor on his left leg, and damaging the internals, but miraculously the T-bolt held together.

He had been granted one more final chance. Slapping the overrides, Thackerly hot-loaded the Delta Dart, his last remaining major weapons system. Arming the warheads while they were still in the launcher, he dropped his flickering reticle over the center mass of the 'Hammer, and direct fired them right into it as he simultaneously triggered his trio of medium lasers.

The Kurita assault lance continued pouring fire onto the beleaguered T-Bolt. Another round of particle beams, heavy lasers, a half dozen mediums, and flight after flight of short ranged missiles coalesced on Hauptman's Thackerly's Thunderbolt.

And then it went down.

-

Lt. Simpson's Centurion accelerated to it's maximum speed of 65 kph as it headed straight for the pack of 2nd Legion light 'Mechs. He quickly scanned the six available targets the Corean B-tech was tracking, the Assassin drew his attention first.

It was the only medium class 'Mech, although barely that at just 40 tons. But more importantly, almost all of it's right side armor had already been stripped away. Beta HQ must have gotten a few licks in before it went up in flames.

A second glance revealed the Locust and one of the Spiders were also damaged, although not as badly. And of course, technically, there probably should have been eight not six 'Mechs, to make it two full lances.

He dropped his reticle over the Assassin, hearing the satisfying sound of a missile lock. The Luxor 3R sent a flight of ten long ranged missiles screaming through the air. Seconds later, he trigged the Luxor D-series medium-heavy autocannon, sending a stream of hypervelocity slugs racing to catch up with the missiles arcing overhead.

The Kurita 'Mechs suddenly galvanized into action. Sprinting towards Simpson's Centurion at over 100 kph, they began closing the distance as quickly as possible in order to bring their short ranged weapons systems to bear.

The LRM's exploded against the ASN-101's right leg, with a single errant hit on the left arm, as the autocannon shredded three quarters of a ton of armor from it's other leg. Simpson cursed, it wasn't enough to slow it down.

Then, out of corner of his eye, he saw one of the 2nd Legion 5D Spiders totally engulfed in missile explosions. The 'Mech came skidding out of the smoke on it's mangled torso, it's limbs frozen from the destruction of it's gyro.

"Hey, Simpson, didn't think I'd let you have all the fun, did you!?" Early almost sounded like he was enjoying himself. "Just hold together a bit longer, and I'll drop them one by one like flies around you with Catty's dual missile packs. You didn't think I was going to leave you hangin' did you, chief?"

The Centurion and the 2nd Legion scout 'Mechs closed with each other in a blur, blossoming into deadly weapons fire.

-

Sho-sa Uzori launched both of her SRM racks, and the Martell medium laser at the charging CN9-A. She was rewarded as the enemy 'Mech lit up like a roman candle when three of her Inferno rounds detonated against it, her medium scoring against it's left arm. Then she laid hard into the 100AFVTA jump jets, sailing cleanly over it's head towards the Catapult who had destroyed Hideo's Spider.

Emiko and Hisoka's two Jenners alpha striked, sending eight medium lasers and a pair of Thunderstroke SRM-4s into the approaching 3rd Lyran Guard unit. Hikaru's 1S Locust added its Martell and two Bical twin-racks to the assault. Then, Goro's Spider triggered its Aberdovey.

The lasers melted armor all over the 'Mech, and the Centurion was burning furiously as five more inferno rounds fanned the flames. It turned almost white as Goro doused it with his Akrum Flamer, venting superheated plasma directly from the reactor core all over it.

The Centurion was now surrounded by her 'Mechs. It kicked Emiko's JR7-D directly in front of it, her left leg seizing up as the hip actuator was destroyed.

Then the 2nd Legion returned the favor, kicking back, stripping the armor from the Centurion's left leg, damaging the structure underneath, and causing the lower leg actuator to fail.

Uzori landed gracefully behind the Lyran Catapult. Almost the entire wire diagram of her 101 Assassin glowed bright red, but she was still fully functional. Any single hit anywhere now would likely put her down, but that was why she had positioned herself safely here.

She struck at it's back as the next flight of thirty LRM's took to the air heading for Hisoka's Jenner. She drilled it dead center in the rear torso, but the Martell by itself just wasn't powerful enough to penetrate even the rear armor of the heavy Lyran 'Mech. Three more of her inferno rounds set it to burning though, adding to the heat load of enemy 'Mech.

The four Martells the Catapult carried flashed across the sky, meeting with the LRM's as Hisoka's Jenner tried to absorb the punishment. Eighteen of the thirty LRM's found their mark destroying over 25% of the 'Mechs total armor, and opening holes the Martells ruthlessly exploited. One them found the Inferno rounds stored in the Jenner's right torso.

A blinding flash briefly distracted the combatants as Hisoka's Jenner went super nova. Over seventy individual Infernos missiles simultaneously exploded, breaching the reactor core as they did so, incinerating 35 tons of military grade steel in a fraction of a second.

The Centurion swiveled, as if trying to shield itself from the explosion directly in front of it.

That's when Sho-sa Uzori heard the missile lock.

-

"Hey Early, looks like I'm not the only one with company banging at the door. Let me return the favor, buddy!"

Simpson once again targeted the Assassin, and this time he knew he was going to scrap it. The Luxor simply blew it's left arm entirely off as the LRMs completely destroyed it's right leg, sending the 40 ton 'Mech crashing to the ground. No way it could get back up missing two limbs. He sent his remaining two Photech 806c medium lasers at the remaining Jenner, exposing structure on its stubby right arm.

"How about a thank you, Early? I swear this man's army has completely forgotten its manners!" he laughed.

Then he braced himself as the heat really began to pour into his cockpit.

The remaining 2nd Legion scout 'Mechs scored hit after hit with their array of medium lasers, melting away almost all of his remaining torso armor, and then he heard a sickening crunch as his 'Mech began to tilt crazily. His already damaged left leg gave way completely sending him tumbling to the ground.

Then the second round of infernos hit him as the Kuritans mobbed him, viciously kicking his fallen 'Mech as the Spider watched on, scouring his 'Mech from top to bottom with it's twin Flamers.

The last thing Lt. Simpson remembered was seeing his other leg spinning wildly off.

-

Lt. Early had a front row pass to the entire horrific scene. "Those ******* Kurita snakes!" he cursed. He could feel the tears begin welling up in his eyes. He laid his reticle over the remaining Jenner and let fly with everything he had, as if somehow, with one single strike, he could rid the entire field of all the snakes.

Thirty LRM's and his complement of four Martells ripped into the damaged Jenner, finishing off its right arm, and damaging the right leg. The heat was already beginning to rise as the three remaining Kurita 'Mechs rapidly advanced on him, returning fire as they approached.

Four of their medium lasers hit Catty but she just shrugged it off. The four Infernos and those Akrum Flamers were a different matter entirely. Catty's heat scale spiked, shutdown warnings began screeching, and red danger lights strobed through the cockpit.

For a split second the entire cockpit looked bathed in blood from the red danger lights, and then Lt Early realized it soon would be. Catty was shutting down.

He yanked the ejection lever. Explosive bolts sent the glassteel canopy flying off as he rocketed through the wicked inferno fueled flames. Briefly suspended in mid-air, he watched helplessly as Hauptman Thackerly's T-bolt collided violently with the 2nd Legion Warhammer engulfing both 'Mechs in a huge fireball.

Then the Awesome twisted and cored Catty right through her back.

-

Lt. Jones slammed his throttle wide open and ran for his life. His Wolverine maxed out at 86 kph as he put as much distance as possible between himself and the company of 2nd Legion 'Mechs who were systematically destroying his lancemates.

He couldn't help but watch the rear video feed as his 'Mech raced ahead. Simpson charged the Kurita lines, his longtime friend Early holding his position as he fired round after round of LRMs to support his friends charge.

Dammit! Wasn't Early supposed to head east and try and get away? Then he saw it, clear as day. They were all sacrificing themselves for him.

The Hauptman's Thunderbolt was shedding armor by the ton as it closed on a lance of Kurita heavy and assault 'Mechs, drawing all of their fire away from him and onto himself. Early had teamed up with Simpson in an effort to destroy or damage enough of the quick light 'Mechs that they wouldn't be able to hunt him down and kill him later.

Thackerly finally made it to the enemy Warhammer, and then both 'Mechs were obscured in a huge explosion. Early's twin fifteen racks dropped a Spider, then a Jenner, as Simpson's Centurion turned towards his friend, blowing both the leg and arm off an Assassin that had gotten behind him. Then, everything disappeared, lost in the smoke and fire of the exploding Kurita infernos rounds.

Jones just continued sprinting further and further away, his eyes filling with tears as he watched helplessly as his friends died. He was a good kilometer away now. His Garret T11b showed only three of the six light 'Mechs had survived his friend's assault. And only two of those seemed capable of full movement. They made no move to pursue him.

He'd make it to the rendezvous point with the 3rd Lyran Expeditionary Force. He swore to himself that their sacrifice would not be in vain.

-

Hauptman Rachel Miles awoke still strapped into the cockpit of her PHX-1D Phoenix Hawk with a blinding headache, cracked and bleeding lips, and a throat that felt thick and parched completely dry.

It came back to her in a flash. The 2nd Legion attack on Beta HQ, the swirling firestorm from the Infernos. She felt the acidic bile rising up her throat, and choked it back down. The utter destruction of the mobile headquarters, Kommandant Tomlinson, Sargent Major Velasquez, Renfro, Don... dead, dead, dead. All dead.

Her 'Hawk was laying down on its back, like a corpse, still shutdown. She slapped her stimpack as she greedily sucked down water from the nearby hydration tube. She was beginning to feel less like a zombie now, her mind beginning to come alert.

Ok, Rachel, pull it together, girl. You can do this. First things, first.

She restarted her 'Hawk. The startup sequence and post power up checks completed, as system status messages began scrolling by.

Miraculously, her Phoenix Hawk was only lightly damaged. She was fully functional. Thank the stars her 'Hawk was a 1D. The 1D replaced the standard machine guns and ammo with two additional heat sinks. If she had that ammo on board, she knew she'd have been dead. She must have crashed down at the edge of the conflagration, the flames concealing the fact her 'Mech wasn't destroyed. Either that, or the snakes just figured she'd been cooked to death in her cockpit.

Then she remembered Thackerly. The Hauptman's lance must still be out there somewhere! Her PXH-1D rose, literally, like a phoenix from the ashes as she got her 'Mech back on its feet once more.

She turned around, surveying the charred crater that had once been the field headquarters, as an involuntarily shudder passed through her body. There was simply nothing left. The intense heat combined with the tons of explosive ordinance which had cooked off, had obliterated everything. Only a few small, unrecognizable metal fragments were left scattered at the edges of the still smoking ruins.

The 2nd Legion would pay for this. And she was going to present them the bill.

She left all of the 'Hawk's active systems off, even the rangefinder. Stealth is all she had. She cycled her Tek Battlecom to passive receive only, and flipped on the visual and infrared displays. She couldn't afford anything that might give her away to the Kurita radar and tracking systems she knew were out there.

It didn't take her long to locate the tracks of the two 2nd legion lances that had attacked her. She turned, following them northwest and darted off into the darkness.

-

Chapter 7

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

"Truly, Tai-sa, you have the Wisdom of the Dragon," Chu-sa Yamoto commented, as she struggled to keep pace with his Hatamoto-chi in her 90-ton Cyclops.

Tai-sa Michael Heise allowed himself a rare smile in the privacy of his cockpit.

"Status report, Hiyama."

"Futao and Yattsu lances combined have two operational 'Mechs, three crippled, two salvageable, and one destroyed. Iyorozu has three operational, Takashi's Warhammer has serious leg damage. No damage to Hatachi, Yasoji, or our Command lance, sir. Over."

"Enemy damage assessment?"

"Summary, one BattleMech company, and one conventional company of the 3rd Lyran have been neutralized. Ten 'Mechs destroyed, three tanks, two attack helicopters, one aerial recon asset, their mobile headquarters, and four infantry platoons. Over."

"Reconfigure forces as follows: Disband Yattsu lance. Itsumi's Rifleman to Iyorozu replacing Takashi's Warhammer. Reconstitute Futao as follows: Takashi's Warhammer, Ammee Puri's Jaeger, Hikaru's Locust, and Goro's Spider. Futao lance Commander Ammee Puri. Reconstitute Hatchi lance as follows: myself, Nagiro and Hito's Grand Dragons, and Buro's Rifleman. I will command Hatachi. Command lance will be you and Hitsumi Puri's Jaeger. No changes to Yasoji. Activate the salvage crews. Confirm."

Chu-sa Hiyama Yamoto began barking orders over the command frequency, reorganizing the structure of the 2nd Legion. One by one, the lance commanders confirmed the orders, as 'Mechs shifted positions to take up their new posts.

She reported back to Heise, "Confirm Yasoji. Confirm Iyorzu. Confirm Futao. Over."

Heise accelerated his assault mech, his two Grand Dragon bodyguards flanking him, as he joined up with Buri's Rifleman. Hitsumi's Jaeger dropped back, taking up the position he vacated next to Yamoto's Cyclops.

"Confirm Hatachi and Command. All confirmed. Over."

"Yasoji to waypoint Omega, vector 300. Iyorozu to Theta, vector 250. Hatachi to Omicron, vector 135. Futao to waypoint Zeta. Futao is to maintain access to New Egypt via the road leading east from the 3rd Lyran Expeditionary Force position at the supply depot.  
Their secondary objective is to deny the Expeditionary Force an eastern escape route. Once all lances are in position, we will converge on the supply depot from three sides. Once the enemy is eliminated, we will move east along the road Futao is guarding, returning to our Lair in the city. I am passing tactical command to you, Chu-sa. I will personally take part in the assault on the supply depot. It is time I avenge Cho-sa Kito so he can find peace with his ancestors. Hiyama, move to position Foxtrot and maintain. Only engage if absolutely necessary."

Cho-sa Hiyama Yamoto paused. Heise had just given her tactical command of the 2nd Legion.

She subconsciously straightened up in her cockpit, keying the private comlink to Heise. "I am honored by your confidence in me, Tai-sa."

Then she opened the command channel once more. "This is Cho-sa Hiyama Yamoto. I am assuming tactical command of the 2nd Legion. Lance commanders acknowledge. Over."

Heise's voice came back over the command frequency first. "Hatachi lance, acknowledged." Seconds later, Taki Matamoto responded, "Yasoji lance, acknowledged.", followed by Tai-i Hiro from his Stalker, "Iyorozu lance, acknowledged." Then, "This is Tai-i Ammee Puri, Futao lance, acknowledged."

Yamoto's heart raced. Somehow, being in overall tactical command was different. There was a weight to it she had never experienced before. A level of anxiety she was shielded from when Heise was in command. Operational success, or failure, was hers. She watched on her Tacticon Tracer 280 as the Legion split into four, moving towards their assigned positions as they setup for their revenge.

-

Rhonda Snord and Shorty Sneede raced to the bridge of the Junk Yard. The DropShip had stopped its violent pitching and yawing and, at least temporarily, stabilized. But something was certainly wrong, very wrong and they were still on emergency power.

Snord bounded up the ladder to the bridge, Sneede right behind her.

"What the hell is going on Captain!" she screamed.

Without even turning around Captain Hawthorne growled back.

"One of the altitude engines failed. I've shut down the corresponding engine just to keep us from tumbling out of the ****** sky! We're on 50% power. Prepare to hot drop your 'Mechs, NOW!"

Snord touched her comset. "Mechwarriors, prepare for hot drop immediately."

Hawthorne rumbled on. "Trust me, you don't want to be around when I try to land this bucket of bolts. As it is, I don't even stand a snowball's chance in hell, at least not until I dump the weight of those war machines fillin' her belly. She needs a StarPort repair facility before she'll ever fly again. If I even manage to land her, she won't be able to get off the ground again, if she's not a smoking crater first." He returned to barking urgent orders to his crew.

As Snord and Sneede turned to race off to their 'Mechs, the communications tech yelled out. "Incoming Flash communiqué from Captain H'Chu!"

An unhappy looking Deb H'Chu flickered to life on his primary display. Rhonda turned to Shorty, "Make sure everyone's in their 'Mechs, and have them double check their ablative drop cocoons. I have a feeling it's going to be rough ride back down."

Sneede slid down the ladder, relaying orders as he dashed off to the lower 'Mech bays.

"Colonel Snord, the 2nd Legion of Vega has taken to the field. Intel is still spotty, but we have confirmation of at least full company of enemy 'Mechs, possibly more, including assault class units. 3rd and 5th company of the Lyran Guard are nonresponsive. Last radar sweep indicated the Legion was heading towards the supply depot on the west side of New Egypt. The ones our friends in the Expeditionary Force are holding, at least for now. Colonel Kay is still organizing a response to the Kurita attack. My command is ready for action. Over."

Colonel Rhonda Snord rubbed her face up and down, taking a deep breath.

She motioned Hawthorne over, and turned to address H'Chu on the comlink.

"Ok, here's what we're going to do…."

-

Kitten's Ripper chopper was a seriously rare piece of tech. Originally built by Cal-Boeing for the Star League, it's fusion engine gave it top speed just short of 200 klicks an hour, and it carried a pair of Omicron 950 medium lasers. Primarily built as a fast troop transport, she usually carried Dawg's jump infantry with her, but tonight it was pure scouting.

Bingo! Her Datacomm 100 flashed red, showing an electronic ID of a 55-ton WVR-6R Wolverine. She thumbed the com.

"Eyes to EF3. I just got a read on a Wolvy, I'm going in closer for a visual. Shows as a friendly."

Hauptman Jason Henley responded. "Acknowledged. Should be T-bolt, Centurion, and a Catty out there too."  
Henly frowned. The last communique he'd gotten from Hauptman Thackerly indicated his lance was on the way to rendezvous with Expeditionary Force.

His line of thinking was interrupted by Kitten's silky voice.

"Confirm visual on the Wolverine. Transmitting secure com frequencies now."

An excited voice came spilling out of the speakers seconds later.

"This is Lt. Jones, 3rd Lyran Guard, 2nd Company. Man, am I glad to see you guys! I hope you don't mind if I brought some company along. We smacked right into some serious Kurita iron en route. An Archer, Warhammer, Stalker and an Awesome, not to mention almost two lances of light 'Mechs. I think Thack disabled the 'Hammer, and Early and Simpson took down almost an entire lance of the lights. Sorry, if you were expecting more, but I'm the only ONE who made it out."

The words continued to tumble out of the Lieutenant's mouth as fast as he could form them.

"I think the whole bloody Legion has taken to the field. We were dispatched to investigate what happened to the scout lance we had on perimeter duty. I think I just figured it out. Those assaults. Aerial reported a mixed lance of Rifleman and Jaeger 'Mechs out there too before we lost contact with them. Beta HQ is off the air, I think I may be all that's left of the entire company!"

The Hauptman's cool voice cut him off. "Lt. Jones. Change to vector 260, maintain maximum speed. I'm spending you coordinates now. What is the condition of your mech? Over."

"She's fine, I mean, I've haven't taken any damage, Sir. Fully operational. I just got the coordinates, adjusting course now, maintaining speed. Over." He paused, then remembered, "Sir. Over, Sir. Over."

It was obvious he was rattled. And probably with good reason.

"Eyes to EF3! I got a visual on a Phoenix Hawk! I caught an anomaly on the IR scanner! It's running stealth, no EF at all! Looks like its T&T and weapons systems are powered down!"

Henley frowned again. The frown was quickly becoming his favorite expression. A Phoenix Hawk? "Eyes, Conduct a fly by. Scan for unit insignia and report. Over."

The 10-ton VTOL dove, accelerating rapidly as it leaned forward, streaking through the night sky. Kitten loved the way the Ripper pushed you back hard against your command seat when you went full tilt. Let the ground-pounders have their big robots, she was addicted to speed.

What she really wanted was an Aerospace fighter. An F-10 Cheetah, or maybe a Seydlitz. Large lasers are nice, after all. Ok, she wouldn't be that picky, as long as it went as least 150 kph she could deal. Anything slower and you might as well be walking.

Secretly, she'd hoped the Hauptman would help her get one when she agreed to be assigned to the Expeditionary Force. Maybe not straight away, but at some point surely. And baring that, the Hauptman was landed gentry. He had a title and estates back on his homeworld of Trent, which meant he had money.  
When she first met Henley, she'd hoped something would happen between them. She'd already left a trail of broken hearts in her wake. She chuckled, it was her voice. She sounded like a dream over the com. But the Hauptman was all business. A real cool cat. Typical blueblood. She sighed.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she focused on the approaching Phoenix Hawk. She was going to pass within 180 meters of it. It'd better be a friendly, that Harmon heavy laser could make things interesting.  
"Eyes to EF3! The 'Hawk's got the Eversword. Looks like one of ours! I'm going to circle around and open a short-range comlink with it."

Hauptman Henley was still trying to decide about Kitten. She was a great pilot, of that there was no question. But she had a strong, independent streak. Never hesitates to take action. Even without being ordered. That cut both ways. Initiative was good, except when it wasn't. And how could you really tell? In any case, her plan matched what he would have suggested, anyway.

He waited. You gotta trust your people he thought to himself.

"This is Eyes. Standby, I'm bridging the 'Hawk onto the command freq now."

Another feminine voice came over the circuit. "This is Hauptman Rachel Miles, 3rd Lyran Guard, XO Beta HQ, 2nd Company." She paused briefly. "Or at least what's left of it."

Before Henley could respond, Lt. Jones broke in. "Rach!? Is that really you!? We all thought you were dead! I mean, Beta HQ transferred command to Thack, and then went off the air! Figured you got bit by the snake too. Oh man, is it good to hear your voice!"

Henley interrupted their reunion. "Identity confirmed. Eyes, transmit Hauptman Miles the secure command frequencies. Hauptman Miles switch to vector 330 and proceed to checkpoint Nova. We will send the coordinates once you've switched over to the secure frequency. What is the status of your mech? Over."

Rachael slewed her mech to the northwest as she responded. "Light damage, sir. All weapon systems operational. Thank Kerensky I didn't have any ammo on board! Switching frequencies now. Over."

There was a short pause followed by a burst of digital static as Miles jumped frequencies to the encrypted command channel.

"Coordinates received, sir. En route now."

"EF3 to Eyes. Complete the sweep of the area and report. Do not engage, do not attempt visual id, repeat do not attempt visual id. Concentrate on the area east of the supply depot first. Acknowledge. Over."  
Kitten pulled back on the Ripper's control stick, leaving the throttle wide open, soaring back up into the sky. "Acknowledged. I'll locate that nest of vipers."

-

Chu-sa Hiyama Yamoto was watching the holographic display of her Cyclop's B-2000 battle computer. The Irregular's Union class DropShip had stalled. Then, it started to slowly lose altitude.

Interesting, she thought. Possible in-flight malfunction? Or were they up to something? It appeared to drift for a few moments, then started sluggishly moving in a different direction. Were they returning to the Lyran HQ? Possibly. Dropships ought not move that slow while still in the atmosphere, though.

Her first tactical command decision. She froze briefly as she suddenly felt the weight of the decision settle onto her. It's my decision. My call.

The commanding officer, Tai-sa Michael Heise had given her tactical command of the Legion so he could lead the assault on the 3rd Lyran Expeditionary Force. He was even now moving into position.

She flipped the tight-band encrypted comlink of her Olmstead 840 over to the command frequency.

"Transport Wing One, Transport Wing Two, this is acting commanding officer Chu-sa Hiyama Yamoto. Change course and return to New Egypt. Approach the city from the southwest. Over."

Whatever the Irregulars were up to, they weren't pursuing the transport wings anymore.

"Transport Wing Two. Changing course. Returning to New Egypt. Over."

"Transport Wing One. Acknowledged. Over."

-  
The hardest part was the waiting. Hauptman Jason Henley sat strapped into his 80-ton ZEU-7S Zeus. He'd gotten one of the new left arm assembles from Hesperus II just before they'd been deployed. It was a field retrofit, replacing the Defiance Autocannon/5 with a Lightning Strike PPC and a pair of heatsinks. Ran a bit hotter than the stock 6S, but the extra firepower was definitely worth it. And right now, with a full company of 2nd Legion 'Mechs bearing down, he needed every last bit of firepower he could get his hands on.

He'd violated one of the first rules of armored combat. And a few more after that. He'd split his small force into three parts in the face of a numerically superior opponent. And, he destroyed the traditional four 'Mech lance structure while he was at it.

His orders were to hold the supply depot. Three lances of 2nd Legion 'Mechs were basically encircling the base as he watched. Two assault lances, and a medium lance. He didn't really have a choice did he? He couldn't risk having one of the Kurita lances overrun him from the rear, so he divided up his forces into three groups of two 'Mechs each. Thank Kerensky those two 3rd Lyran Guard 'Mechs had shown up at the last minute, otherwise, he wouldn't have stood a chance. Actually, he barely stood a chance now.

He and Lt. Weddle were positioned on the east side of the depot. Lt. Hamilton and Sigil to the south along the road, and the two Lyran Guard pilots were guarding the western approach. Two-to-one odds, and outweighed to boot. All of them.

He watched as the 2nd Legion assault lance inexorably approached his position.

He punched up the visual magnification on his TharHes Ares-7. What the hell was that thing? The electronics ID kept flickering back and forth between a CGR-1L Charger and Unknown.

Huh? It didn't look anything like a Charger, except for maybe the massive size. Frankly, it looked like an ancient terran Samurai warlord. This can't be good.

Henley zoomed in further, letting out an explosive exhale as he saw the insignia. Three green bars on a field of red. A Colonel. The CO of the 2nd Legion. It was the Commanding Officer of the 2nd Legion coming to say hello.

He swung his camera over to one of the two DRG-1Ns flanking the Samurai 'mech. Great, bodyguards. The right arm caught his eye. Hmm… something looks off, he thought to himself. Henley had fought against House Kurita before, seen a few DRG-1N's on the battlefield, and this didn't exactly match up. Whatever it was, it wasn't the standard Imperator-A autocannon.

Great, he thought to himself, the surprises just never end. An elite assault command lance lead by the CO himself with newly designed and upgraded 'mechs. Wonderful.

The RFL-3N barely even registered. It must be standing in for the damaged Warhammer.

They formed up, pausing about a kilometer away as the other two lances reached their positions.

Suddenly, the TharHes Calliope ZE-2 locked onto the open broadcast frequency and a heavily accented voice filtered into the cockpit.

"This is Tai-sa Michael Heise, Commanding Officer of the 2nd Legion of Vega. You are brave warriors. You have proven this by defeating Cho-sa Kito and taking possession of the base he was defending. Now you face overwhelming odds. Your field headquarters have been destroyed. A company of your 'Mechs has fallen to the Legion. There is no one who can come to your aid. You are alone, outnumbered, outweighed, outgunned, and outmaneuvered. I offer you this one chance in honor of your combat prowess. Power down and exit your BattleMechs. I will repossess this base. You will be dispossessed and traded in a prisoner swap with the Lyrans, and allowed to return to your families, and to your lives. I do not enjoy senseless slaughter nor the waste of skilled pilots and expensive military hardware that follow in its wake. You have three minutes to respond."

Henley did the calculation. The same calculation they were all, no doubt, doing. And the odds of survival were low. Real low. And, he had already made special arrangements with the Irregulars to ship the salvaged 'Mechs from their first battle over the supply depot back to the Irregular base on Clinton.

Sure, he might be temporarily dispossessed, but he had a Battlemaster waiting for him. Not the illustrious end to his military service he had envisioned, but, hey, at least he'd live to fight another day.

He straightened up in his seat. Was he seriously considering surrender? Really? Surrender? He reflected on the lives of the men and women under him. John, Jeff, Kitten, Dozer, Dawg, Sigil. Was he asking them to throw their lives away in a hopeless battle?

Suddenly, he thought about Lt. Sigil's older brother. They had gone to Sanglamore together, they'd been good friends and lancemates. Killed in action against the Dragon, and for what? Who even remembered him now, except maybe him and Sigil.

Suddenly, he saw movement on his Ares-7. By the Blood of the Usurper! Lt. Sigil's Grasshopper was charging the Kurita assault lance positioned off to his right. He was barreling straight towards a Stalker, an Awesome, an Archer, and a Rifleman!

Henley's cockpit filled with curses.

The com crackled to life again, except this time it was Lt. Sigil's voice.

"You killed my brother, you ******* Kurita snakes, and now you're all gonna pay with your lives! I'm gonna rip out your fangs, skin your worthless hides, chop you up, and then **** on your mother! How's that for a freakin' response!?"

-

Chapter 8

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

Sigil couldn't believe it. The Hauptman was actually considering surrendering to the Kurita scum! The Haputman might not have said anything yet, but his silence told him all he needed to know.

Well, he'd taken care of that. Now it was time for the 2nd round of payback.

With a wild grin plastered on his face , Sigil charged the Kurita assault lance.

He commed over to his lancemate. "Stay there, Hamilton, I'll be right back!" he chuckled.

He engaged the parallel capacitor and coil assembly of the heavily modified Lord's Light PPC slung under his 'Hopper's right arm. It began it build charge.

This thing had better work, Sigil thought to himself, or this is going to be a real short fight.

He slid to a sudden stop as his rangefinder ticked down to 630 meters.

Hitting the open frequency as he centered his reticle on the 85-ton Stalker, he growled. "See you in hell, you Kurita ********!"

Then he pulled the trigger.

There was a pregnant pause, then his 'Mech started to brown out as the enhanced particle cannon greedily sucked up almost all of the available power from the 280 VOX fusion engine. His control systems flickered ominously, as his 'Mech stuttered.

Then, there was an explosive thunderclap followed by a huge streaking sapphire blue mass of overcharged particles. It slammed into the Stalker's right arm instantly vaporizing almost an entire ton of its heavy Valliant Lamellor armor.

The other three Kurita mechs turned to look at the STK-3F. Excess electrical energy was still visible crackling and dancing over its entire right side.

They turned back as one, their torso's all swiveling to target Sigil's Grasshopper. And like a towering steel wall, they began to advance on him.

Missile lock warnings blared to life in his cockpit a fraction of a second later, as both the Stalker and Archer combined to fill the air with fifty long range missiles, all targeted at him.

He slammed his 'Mech into reverse, walking backwards. Range, 600 meters to the Stalker.

The Tek Battlecom, he had retrofitted in his 'Mech, had a bay for an optional electronic counter measures module. One of the few, if not the only, communications systems with an option like that. Sigil had scoured the Inner Sphere for damaged and salvaged Battlecoms. Between about five damaged units and countless hours, he'd been able to reconstruct what he hoped was a working ECM module. He'd never been able to test it. Until now.

In fact, he wasn't even sure exactly what it did. But if ever there as moment to find out, this was it.  
As the four salvos of missiles reached their apex and began streaking down towards him, he activated the ECM module. His cockpit went eerily quiet as the missile lock klaxon stopped.

By the Usurper, it actually worked!

His celebration was cut short, however, as missiles began exploding all around him temporarily obscuring his sight.

-

Lt. Hamilton slammed his fist down on the control surface of his Warhammer.

Sigil, that stupid *******! What the hell was he thinking!? Bad enough he'd threatened to urinate on the 2nd Legion Commander's mother, now he was single handedly charging their assault lance.

Damn right, he was going to stay right where he was. I mean, they joked back and forth all the time about how all Sig was good for was drawing enemy fire. But this was ridiculous.

He watched in frustration as Sigil's 'Hopper abruptly stopped and raised its right arm, there was as strange pause, and then Hamilton's jaw dropped.

A frenzied, surging, torrent of deep blue erupted from the barrel of the Hopper's particle cannon. It flashed through the sky like lightning, was that thunder he just heard? Then, it actually physically rocked the 85-ton assault 'Mech backwards, a ton of armor simply disappearing from its left arm.

The Kurita Awesome, Archer, and Rifleman all turned to look at their lancemate, then turned back to the 'Hopper, and launched into a dead run straight at it. The Archer and Stalker unleashing their LRMs as they closed.

Hamilton cringed as he watched the missiles.

-

Sigil was walking his 'Mech backwards as fast as he could manage as LRMs exploded across his right and left torso.

Fourteen out of fifty had found their mark on him, only 28%. Not bad.

He glanced down at the recharge indicator. Come on, come on, COME ON!

His finger was poised to trigger the cannon the second it became fully charged. He knew he'd be in deep and serious trouble once the Kurita lance got within 450 meters and could bring their heavy lasers into play. It would be bad enough when the Awesome got within range and started firing trios of Kruess PPCs.

600 meters. He fired again. Again the 'Mech browned out, but Sigil was ready for it this time. The 2nd overcharged blast of particles slammed into the approaching Stalker's left arm.

The Archer and Stalker continued belching out salvos of LRMs. Thankfully, the ECM was still jamming their guidance, wreaking havoc with their accuracy. Nine more missiles pock marked the armor of his left leg and center torso.

570 meters. He'd be within range of the AWE-8Q in seconds.

His enhanced particle projection cannon unleashed another brutal stream dead center on the approaching Stalker. The 85-ton goliath just bulled its way through.

The Kurita Rifleman, faster then its two assault brethren had closed, bringing its two Imperator-A autocannons into play. Depleted uranium slugs started chewing into his left arm, as eighteen more LRMs rocked his 70-ton 'Hopper. Right arm, right leg, left arm, left torso, he was taking damage all over. He fought to keep his 'Mech upright as it was buffeted by the increasingly punishing damage.

540 meters. Sigil glanced out of his cockpit, he'd just pulled up even with Hamilton's Warhammer. He flipped the private com channel open.

"Hey Hamilton, wanna join the fun? I brought some friends along. They like to play rough." he giggled.  
"Your freaking crazy, Sigil! Totally, 100%, certifiably insane! Have you looked at your arm?! I can see it glowing red from here! You'er going to melt your entire ****** arm off you blithering *****!"

As Hamilton watched, Sigil's 'Hopper was engulfed in another flight of fifty long range missiles. Three cerulean beams from the Awesome and dual streams of slugs from the Rifleman disappeared into the cloud of detonations surrounding his friend's 'Mech.

Out of the maelstrom, another thunderous sapphire blast lit up the night and buried itself deep in the Stalkers left arm. Sparks flew as the internal structure was breached and components damaged.

Hamilton lined up his two Donal PPCs and fired, adding to the firepower aimed at the enemy Stalker. He frowned, they just didn't look as impressive anymore after watching Sigil's ridiculous arm cannon. The first bolt slammed into the right side of the 'Mechs chest, the second melting the remaining armor on the right arm critically damaging it.

There was low rubble, followed by a red flash, as the Stalkers right arm suddenly violently exploded. It was followed by a second blinding flash as the right torso of the 'Mech burst open like rotten fruit, spewing scrap metal all around it.

Hamilton felt it crash to the ground like a miniature earthquake as the explosions continued, ripping into the fusion engine and sensitive gyro, until finally, the entire 'Mech shuddered, then simply exploded into nothingness.  
Sigil's voice broke into his cockpit. "I just wanna say, that was my kill."

Well, at least the crazy ******* was still alive, Hamilton thought to himself.

-

Hauptman Henley was desperately looking for some kind of edge. The 2nd Legion Commander's assessment was all too accurate. The lance facing him had superior firepower, greater mobility, numbers and weight all in their favor. He and Weddle were outgunned at almost every range. He had a slight advantage in LRMs, but that would only last seconds.

However, sometimes, he thought grimly, seconds were all the separated life from death, victory from defeat. This was one serious longshot, though. He gritted his teeth as the Kurita command lance began their advance.  
The two 60-ton modified Dragons quickly accelerated to over 85 kph, seeking to close the distance as quickly as possible. They peeled off from either side of the Samauri, one breaking to the right, the other to the left to flank them. The Samauri, with the RFL-3N trailing right behind it, came straight at him and Lt. Weddle.  
His voice remained calm and collected, even as his insides roiled.

"Lt. Weddle, concentrate fire on the right side Dragon, then we'll work the left side one. We need to maintain a secure perimeter for as long as possible to prevent them from breaking into the rear. Once their inside, there's nothing left to stop them, except for Dozer and Dawg's infantry. We can't afford to let anyone suffer a rude surprise coming up from behind them. We've all got our hands more than full already. We will hold this line."  
"Ack. Hauptman."

Lt. Weddle was as utterly dependable as his 65-ton Thunderbolt. A rock. He'd guard his flank and stick to him like glue until the bitter end. Never questioned orders. Never complained. Always brought his A-game. As good a soldier as a commander could ask for. Solid German stock.

He snapped back to the present, watching as the rangefinder continued it relentless countdown.

At long range, he and Weddle sent their Starfire and Delta Dart LRM-15s to greet the sprinting Dragon.  
The Dragons returned the salutation, each with their own Telos DecaCluster.

Henley started walking his Zeus backwards, Weddle keeping in lock step with him. He had to stay out of range of the Kurita PPCs and autocannons for as long as possible.

Eighteen LRMs exploded all across the left side of the Dragon. He quickly glanced over at Weddle's T-bolt. His missile lock hadn't gone off. They weren't targeting him.

He grimaced as he saw the T-bolt absorb a dozen LRMs in return. Truth was, the T-bolt actually had more armor then his 80-ton Zeus, and the 'Bolt had a reputation as an extremely reliable and tough 'Mech. A hard kill. Most T-bolt pilots thought of their rides as assault class 'Mechs, and drove them that way too.  
He heard the metallic chunking of the Star Fire reloading.

A second volley crisscrossed with the return fire of the Dragons, filing the night sky with luminescent missile entrails. Eighteen more slammed into the enemy 'Mech. Luck was with him this night, so far at least, as they too clustered on the left side stripping away almost all of the armor.

Weddle's T-bolt was soaking up the damage like a sponge as missiles turned more armor into scrap across its right side.

The viewfinder rolled on past 500 meters and just kept going down.

As if in acknowledgement, both sides opened up with their particle cannons.

Henley took a deep breath and pulled the trigger on his Donal PPC, now things were going to get intense.  
Weddle followed suit a fraction of second later.

One bolt hit the right leg, the other the already weakened left torso of the Dragon. They were into the structure.

Weddle's T-bolt staggered as PPC bolt after PPC bolt hammered his 'Mech. First, the two Lord's Thunder PPCs from the Dragons slagged armor off his left torso and right leg followed by another two particle streams from the Samuari, slamming into his center and right torso. Autocannon rounds from the Rifleman drilled into the right torso as he stumbled backwards.

They exchanged LRM fire for the third time. Weddle was rocked in his command couch as a cluster of them exploded all around his head, followed by more explosions along his left arm and chest.

He swore in frustration as his salvo went wide, exploding harmlessly as the Dragon raced on.

Thank Kerensky the Hauptman's aim was true, the Lt. thought. Again the Dragon was wreathed in missile explosions and flying metal shards.

But the loss of almost four tons of armor in seconds was too much, even for the Thunderbolt.

It was going down. Weddle fought desperately to keep it moving backwards, but the sheer force of four particle cannons skewed it one side, and as his left leg came down, it caught, twisting the 'Mech further off to one side.  
Then he was falling.

The Hauptman stopped immediately. He saw Weddle go down first, then he saw his LRM's had landed true. The charging Dragon emerged from the cloud of smoke still in a full run, then spun sudden and violently off the right as a huge fireball erupted from its savaged left side, hurling it to the ground, where it convulsed as smaller, secondary explosions continued to rock its prone form.

He stood sentinel over his fallen comrade, hoping to draw the fire away, to give Weddle the time to regain his feet.

No good deed goes unpunished, the Hauptman thought, as the dual PPCs from the Samurai scored the armor on his right arm and torso, and the surviving Dragon, now only 360 meters away, hit him dead center.

To make matters worse, he also found himself within range of the Rifleman's Magna Mk II heavy lasers. Good thing it couldn't fire them both with risking a shutdown. One of the ruby beams sliced through the air and into his left torso as it's Imperator-A autocannon chiseled away at his left side.

"Aim for the left side! That's where the ammos stored! Next target the CO."

"Sorry, Hauptman," Weddle's voice came over the comlink. "It won't happen again, left side, ack." he growled as he levered his 65-ton 'Mech back to its feet, unleashing his Donal at the rapidly closing Dragon, followed by the Delta Dart missile rack.

Henley added his own Donal and missile rack to the return fire. The DRG was close enough now to bring the A5M large laser into play and he did so without hesitation, now starting to build heat in the cockpit.  
Again fate smiled upon them. LRMs clustered heavily along the left side of the running Dragon, as his PPC ripped armor off the right arm.

Lt. Weddle's Donal flew high, but his Delta Dart hit the right leg and exploited the secondary breach in the Dragon's right arm, destroying the upper arm actuator.

But it was the Hauptman's A5M that breached the left torso armor that protected the DecaCluster's explosive munitions. The second DRG-1G sustained a massive explosion along it's left side sending it's arm pin wheeling through the sky, as it's leg evaporated under it, spilling the 'Mech uncermoniously to the ground where it continued to be racked by explosions.

The Hauptman narrowed his eyes. They might survive this yet. And, he better tell High Command about the vulnerability in the new DRG design.

-

Dozer already knew where the breech in the perimeter was going to occur.

He was the mobile reserve, to the extent they even had one. Him and his 50-ton Drillson hovertank.

The Hauptman had him idling in the center of the depot, ready to break in whatever direction might be necessary to prevent the Kuritans from getting into the depot, and from there potentially overrunning one of the few scattered defenders from behind.

He was watching the 2nd Legion advance even now. The Hauptman and Lt. Weddle had fought side-by-side many times, and Lt. Hamilton was the only pilot he'd ever met that would wade into battle with Sigil next to him.

Of course, Hamilton also believed his Warhammer was invincible, which was probably why he didn't mind having Sig assigned to him in the first place.

That left the southern approach. What were their names again? Jones, and the woman, she was a Hauptman too. XO of Beta HQ. Or was the XO of Beta HQ. Those two were all that were left of the command now.

He shook his head. Both of them had watched all of their comrades die earlier that very night and had been running for the lives ever since. They were rattled, bad. If you listened close enough, you could hear the strain and fatigue in their voices. The thousand yard stare.

They were also riding the lightest mechs. A 45-ton Phoenix Hawk, and a 55-ton Wolverine. Solid 'Mechs, sure, but they weren't the best choice by far when you're forced to defend a location.

He eyed the opposition. A SHD-2K Shadow Hawk, he gritted his teeth, a HBK-4G Hunchback, that thing was a killer plain and simple, a Trebuchet and an Alley Cat rounded it out.

Ya, they'd crumble. They weren't even chatting. Just standing there, waiting. Like they were facing the firing squad.

No sense waiting to see if he was going to be proven right.

He shoved the throttle down, slewing his hovertank around, and raced towards them.

"Whadda ya say we take down their 'Hawk first? As long as we keep enough range between us and that Hunchy's Tomodzuru Type 20, we oughta be fine. For a while at least." His voice scrapped and scratched like gravel.

Come on, say something, you two gotta snap out of it, Dozer thought to himself as he pulled up next to the two 3rd Lyran Guard 'Mechs, or else this is gonna be way too short.

He thumbed his com again. "Don't tell me you're gonna let an old crusty tanker like me steal all the glory."  
"Acknowledged. Who are you again?" The female. A good sign.

He gave a rough chortle. "Dozer. I've been defanging snakes since you were in diapers, sweetie. Consider me the cavalry."

Then battle was joined.

First, the Trebuchet's dual Zeus LRM-15's fired, supported by the Shadow Hawk's Holly 5-rack. Dozer replied with his Light CrossBow.

A dozen missiles exploded across the Wolverine as Dozer's grouped nicely on the enemy 'Hawk's left arm blasting away hunks of armor.

"Come on' sugar, let's get your heavy laser into play. Follow me in!"

The three of them surged forward, zigging across the battlefield as the Alley Cat and 'Hawk fired their particle cannons, and the Bucket continued to rain down long range missiles.

The Fusigon and Lord's Light both slammed into the Wolverine's torso as another dozen LRM's pock marked its remaining armor, but still he stuck with them.

Dozer sent another flight of ten missiles at the SHD-2K, the Wolverine finally opening up with its Whirlwind autocannon as well. Missiles exploded all around it's legs, a few hitting the left one, as autocannon rounds stitched across it's right arm. Then, the Phoenix Hawk's Harmon heavy laser flashed across the battlefield, melting a half ton of armor from its left torso.

"Alright, sweetheart. That's close' nuff. Let's start pullin' em back now. Reel 'em on in. They're in our sweet spot now."

Dozer threw his Drillson into reverse, as he kept a wary eye on the Hunchback. 330 meters. Good. That Tomodzuru was the stuff of nightmares. The Bucket and the Shadow Hawk had closed to 270, but those 'Mechs were a good 20 klicks faster than the Hunchback.

A third salvo of LRMs crisscrossed the night sky as the WVR-6R continued to be the sole target of the Kurita lance. Missiles landed all around its feet, damaging both legs. Two more azure lightning strikes slagged armor off the left torso and leg, and the 'Hawk's Martell medium drilled into the now damaged left leg, as it missed high with its Holly twin-rack.

Dozer's LRMs once again found their mark on the Kurita Shadow Hawk, dead center this time. The Wolvy's autocannon chewed on its left arm, as the Phoenix Hawk alpha-striked with all three Harmon lasers. Armor melted off the left arm, severing the powerful Lang hand actuator, as the mediums struck home on the right torso. The Wolverine's Harpoon-6 SRM and Magna laser flew wide of their mark.

Dozer growled. The boy wasn't going to make it. With both legs and the center torso already stripped of armor, he was going to fall in seconds. Maybe, if they were lucky, the Shadow Hawk would go down too.

"That's it. Keep on comin' back. The trenchbucket can't have but a few more salvos left, and that Hunchy hasn't even been able to fire yet. Ur doin' good. Just hold for a bit longer and we'll be within the base perimeter." He gave another rough chuckle. "We've got a few surprises for 'em waitin' there too."

Another thirty-five LRMs lifted off from the advancing Kurita lance matched by Dozer's paltry ten. All at the optimal range of 210 meters. Twenty-one of them hit the boy's Wolverine, followed by a pair of PPCs, a medium laser, and the Holly twin-rack.

Six of Dozer's LRMs hit the Shadow Hawk's center mass, his Cyclops heavy laser completely destroying the left arm. The woman's Harmon burned another half-ton of armor off the right arm, but she held back on the mediums. The Wolverine's autocannon tore up the right leg, as five of the Harpoon SRMs exploded all across it, but it wasn't enough. It emerged from the other side of the smoke.

Dammit! The Wolverine was down. Left leg gone, coolant pouring out of its damaged reactor shielding, right leg still attached but just barely. Hardly any armor left on the entire 'Mech.

"Punch out boy! The snake ain't givin' no quarter! Go hole up deep somewhere and we'll come git ya when it's all over."

-

Chapter 9

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

Chu-sa Hiyama Yamoto watched the battle unfold on her Tacticon B-2000.

The Expeditionary Force was indeed a formidable opponent. They had already destroyed Tai-i Hiro's Stalker, and both Nagiro Yato and Hito Natashi's Grand Dragons. Their Zeus, Thunderbolt, and Grasshopper were all damaged but still fully functional.

They had only managed to destroy the Wolverine which had escaped from them earlier that night.  
A lot would be decided in the next few moments. Damaged as they were, the Lyrans could totally collapse at any moment. Tides change quickly, and battle is a fickle thing, she reflected.

She started walking her ponderous 90-ton war machine to the southwest, Hitsumi Puri following her. She wanted to position herself to support either the Tai-sa, or to exploit a breech in the southern defensive perimeter.

She glanced over at the long range radar. The two air transport wings were well on their way back. The Lyran High Command was either unwilling or unable to mount a response to their attack on the supply depot.

Then she noticed the mercenary DropShip. What was it doing? Earlier it looked like it had suffered a problem with its altitude jets and abandoned its pursuit of the transport wings. She had assumed it was returning to the Lyran headquarters.

She had the B-2000 run a series of extrapolations based on its current trajectory and project the probabilities.  
Her 'Mech stumbled as she froze turning pale.

They were going to land at the StarPort in New Egypt.

-

Hauptman Jason Henley's voice, as cool and calm as ever, boomed over the din of battle in Sigil's cockpit. You couldn't tell from listening to him that the entire command was on the verge of utter annihilation.

"All units pull back to your secondary position."

Which basically meant retreat. Not that there was really much to fall back to, anyway. A cluster of a few hardened storage buildings, and a barracks, surrounding a rudimentary 'Mech repair facility.

The 80-ton AWS-8Q was still 500 meters away from him, the faster Rifleman and Archer had closed to within about 300 meters. All three of them untouched, the burning, smoking ruins of the Stalker silhouetting them from behind as they continued their advance.

"Hey, Hamilton, you heard the Hauptman, get outta here. I'll cover for you. My 'Hoppers about shot anyway. Oh, and point your vidcam over here and watch me one-shot this Awesome. Nobody's gonna believe it unless I got a holovid of it!" He gave a maniacal laugh.

He suddenly switched directions, shoving the throttle to the max and began running straight towards the approaching 2nd Legion 'Mechs.

Expletives filled Hamilton's cockpit. They often did.

"Sigil! What in the Usurper do you think you're doing,! You got some kind of death wish!? The Hauptman is gonna have my *** if I let anything happen to you!"

"Nah, he won't. He's too busy at the moment. And, he's already got two of their 'Mechs down, he probably thinks we're goofing off over here."

The tactical part of Hamilton's mind knew it was the best play they could make. His 'Hammer was undamaged, and if that crazy git really could drop the Awesome, he actually had a chance, a slim one, sure, but still a chance.

He let his 'Mech continue treading backwards towards the depot, watching the distance now begin to swiftly open up between him and Sigil. It was the kinda thing that was hard to watch.

"Alright, alright. I'm rolling the holocam on ya." He snorted. "You one-shot an Awesome and I swear, I'll HPG it straight to Solaris. You'll be a freakin' rockstar! It'll go viral, and you'll have 'Mech bunnies all over your *** and your pick of the Stables. An ***** is what you are! But, I'll tell you what, I'll give it a little love tap for ya for good luck."

Hamilton aimed and triggered his duel Donal PPCs at the same time the 8Q fired its trio of Kruess particle cannons at Sigil's 'Mech. The Archer let fly with another volley of 30 LRMs from its Doombuds, and the Rifleman's medium autocannons and one of its Magna heavies poured fire onto his friends GHR-5S.

Fours tons worth of armor, structural rigging, actuators, heat sinks, laser parts, and other 'Mech detritus were either vaporized or blown right off the machine. The entire left side of the 'Hopper was just gone. Power cables, coolant pipes, electrical wiring, reactor shielding, and myomer hung like guts spilling out of its sides, but he still managed to keep his feet.

Hamilton blinked, the entire lower half of the Grasshopper's right arm was glowing dull red.

He suddenly inhaled, holding his breath for second, then letting it go, talking to himself.

"Oh man... what in the hell is he doing..."

He double checked the holovid recording.

-

Ya baby! Just gotta get within 200 meters...

Hamilton's love taps arced past him, hitting the right and center torso of the Awesome.

She'd held together. She was one tough *****. Her left torso and arm were gone. There was only maybe one ton of armor left on her in total, and most of that was on her right leg.

He glanced down at the status of the matched charging circuits for his twin PPC capacitors.  
150% and rising.

Come on, come on, come on, baby! Hold together!

The explosive discharge would undoubtedly destroy the entire right arm when it went off. But, hey, the right arm was already internal anyway, so was the right torso for that matter, and the center too. Kerensky! She was a mess!

He tied in his remaining three Diplan mediums to the fire interrupt circuit of his custom particle cannon.  
180% and still rising.

Then he tied in the ejection ignition circuit to it as well. The heat alone from the dually would cook him alive, if the deadly neural feedback didn't kill him first, and that's if the entire 'Mech wasn't blow to smithereens by the next salvo in the first place.

At 200 meters he pulled the trigger and entire world erupted into chaos.

He had a strange, dreamlike, aerial view of the entire scene as the glassteel canopy blew off and he rocketed into the sky on the command couch. Thankfully, he'd only caught a portion of the neural feedback.

An incredible midnight blue vortex formed around the glowing, overheated barrel of the modified particle cannon as the 'Mech continued ahead pilotless, almost like it was alive.

A blindingly white, torrid stream of supercharged protons arced across the battlefield, illuminating everything in a stark, white and blue light. For a fleeting moment his Grasshopper was directly connected to the Awesome, the image burned into his retina with otherworldly intensity.

The particle stream passed clear through the right torso of the Awesome. It's right arm, in pristine condition, simply dropped to the ground next to it as if it had suddenly become unbolted.

Then the beam began to eat away at the center torso like some kind of horrific electric snake. It lasted for a second more, armor pouring like a metallic waterfall off the Awesome, steaming and puddling at its feet, then the reactor shielding gave way, forcing an automatic safety shutdown to prevent a catastrophic core meltdown.  
The Awesome locked up, crashing to the ground, as the remaining Kurita 'Mechs returned fire.

The 'Hopper was already falling as the long range missiles, autocannon rounds, and heavy lasers destroyed the remaining structural integrity, causing the 'Mech to literally fall into pieces.

As Sigil began to slowly float back down to the raging madness below, all that was left of his Hopper was a pair legs, churning and twitching as if still trying to reach that Awesome, not realizing its body was gone.

-

Dawg was an adrenaline junky. Not the sythetic kind they put in the stimpacs, the real kind. The kind your body makes when its pushed to its extremes.

And he was about to get his fix. The Hauptman and what was left of his unit were seeking cover around the 'Mech hangar in the center of the depot. And the Dragon was coming in finish them off. The perimeter defense was over. It was time to get up close and personal.

Of course, the Dragon had also left him a wonderful pile of munitions in one of the hardened storage builds. What a pity to waste them, he chuckled.

It was obvious the avenues they were going to use to approach. So obvious, in fact, he'd had his men bury improvised mines along them. Crates of 20mm and 30mm rounds rigged with remote detonators, also courtesy of the dead Kurita quartermaster.

And with more SRMs than any reasonable man should ever have access too, he'd set up every man in his 21 member squad, including himself with a launcher. They were basically going to use them as one-shots, fire, drop, then jump.

He grinned again as he ran his fingers over the remote detonators waiting. And it just keeps getting better.  
He'd also prepared a secondary position with machine guns within about 60 meters of each of the SRM positions. They'd all jump back to the secondary, open fire again, the rounds would run out in seconds without a crew to keep it reloaded, then the real fun would begin.

The ultimate rush.

-

Tai-sa Michael Heise leaned down in his 80-ton HTM-26T Hatamoto-Chi picking up the severed arm of the Lyran Thunderbolt, wielding it like a sword in his left hand. Seconds later he was passing between a pair of hardened storage building towards the repair facility.

It all happened at once. First, a huge explosion engulfed his right leg, then the Lyran Zeus opened fire just meters off to his right side, it's A5M and B3M lasers burning into his armor.

His heavily armored right leg shrugged off the damage from the mine, but his left arm and left torso were now dangerously low on armor.

He swung his torso around to face the enemy 'Mech as he unleashed a full salvo of twelve short range missiles and one of his Tiegart particle cannons. Eight SRMs exploded all across the Zeus, his Tiegart hitting low on the left leg. Still no breeches.

He smiled in satisfaction as he drove the Thunderbolt's arm deep into the left torso of the Zeus destroying its heavy laser and trashing the support structure beneath.

The Zeus swung back wildly with its blunt right arm, smashing the last of the armor from his own left torso, and knocking one of his heat sinks offline.

As the two 'Mechs grappled, Heise unleashed another salvo of twelve SRMs, this time at point blank range. Another eight missiles erupted against the damaged Lyran assault 'Mech, but its armor still held, with the exception of the gaping hole he'd opened in its left torso seconds before.

Now he could smell the desperation of the Lyran commander. The enemy commander disengaged the field inhibitor and fired his particle cannon at point blank range, destroying it and mangling the structure housing it in the process, then added its pair of remaining medium lasers to the volley. The lasers scored a lucky hit, destroying his right arm and the Tiegart it held, while his right leg continued to soak up damage.

He yanked the arm out of the Zeus's left torso, and raising it up, slashed viciously across its right arm, almost destroying it entirely as the Zeus responded with a gut punch.

A third volley of SRMs slammed into the Zeus, splaying open its entire torso, two of them exploding against its head.

The Zeus staggered, dropping to one knee as it responded with the two Defiance B3M medium lasers it had left. His right leg absorbed another hit. Now it was almost bare of armor. The second laser struck the left arm, as if in a desperate attempt to stop the killing stroke that was only seconds away, but failed.

Then Tai-sa Michael Heise ruthlessly thrust his make-shift sword deep into the exposed innards of the Zeus, twisting it, as it utterly annihilated the delicate gyro which kept the ZEU-6S upright.

The Zeus slumped face first to the ground and lay there perfectly still as he stood triumphant over his vanquished enemy. It had been a long time since he'd taken to the field for a visceral, in your face, to the death brawl. How he had missed it, he realized suddenly.

-

For a brief moment, Lt. Hamilton actually missed the two Perry-Browning machines guns he'd removed to make space for a pair of additional heat sinks in his 70-ton Warhammer.

Then all other thoughts were flushed out of his mind, as the hulking 2nd Legion ARC-2K Archer came crashing straight through the bunker he was hiding behind drilling him with a pair of Diverse Optics Type 30 heavy lasers as it emerged from the now shattered wall. A half ton of armor melted off his left leg and right arm as he wheeled his 'Mech back. The first damage he'd taken since the engagement began.

He unleashed with the impressive array of short ranged weaponry the 'Hammer carried. Dual Martell mediums, twin Magna smalls, and the Holly six missile pack. Too bad about those machine guns, they'd have really added a bit of sparkle.

His volley was well clustered along the left side of the Kurita Archer, savaging the left arm and peppering the rest of its body, but this too was the first damage the enemy 'Mech had taken. It would take a few more salvos to breech the respectable armor it carried. He scowled, actually, it carried a ton more armor than he did.

The two metal behemoths came crashing together, Hamilton kicking the Archer's already damaged left leg, as the battlefist of the Archer suddenly filled his entire viewscreen. The glassteel canopy spidered under the heavy blow, but mercifully held, as he was whiplashed against his command couch.

Ok, this is getting serious. He glanced over and out of the splintered canopy. By the Usurper! The Hauptman's Zeus was being violated by what looked like an ancient sword wielding Samauri, its blade buried deep in the Zeus's chest, forcing it down to its knees. It looked bad, real bad.

He snapped his head back around, he had his own problems. The Archer's Type 30s melted more of his precious armor, this time from his left leg and chest.

He growled as he triggered his short ranged interlock circuit once again, sending his four lasers and 6-rack directly into the Kurita 'Mech. Again he grouped well on the left side, gritting his teeth as the explosions from his own SRMs washed back on him. Sparks flew from the Archer's left arm as the Type 30 heavy laser was destroyed by his combination of laser fire and missiles, now leaving it with only a single short range weapon.

The Archers right arm came around again, ricocheting off his left torso as he struck out again with his leg, crumpling armor plates and driving into the structure of the Archer's left leg for the second time. Still it held.

It fired its remaining Type 30 heavy at him, a half ton of armor streamed down his left arm, as he triggered another devastating salvo at point blank range. Over its shoulder, he caught a glimpse of its Rifleman lancemate, trying to angle it's autocannons into a clear firing position.

Lasers and missiles erupted all over the ARC-2K destroying another two tons of its armor and internal structure. The critically damaged left arm now dangled uselessly, it's shoulder actuator destroyed, then the left leg gave way, sending the 70-ton war machine crashing to the ground on its vulnerable left side.

He swung the Hammer's leg back, viciously kicking the now downed 'Mech in the right torso, his foot disappearing into the devastated chassis. Stay down!

As he stood over the ruined Archer, he swiveled his torso looking for the Rifleman he knew was somewhere nearby.

-

Hauptman Rachel Miles danced backwards in her Phoenix Hawk to protect her damaged right leg, just keeping out of physical range with the Kurita TBT-5N as it entered the supply depot proper.

The 2nd Legion Trebuchet was immediately rocked as it entered, armor shredding off its right leg as Dawg triggered one of his improvised mines. She followed up immediately with her trio of Harmon lasers, scoring a hit on the left arm and clenching her teeth as the other two lasers burned right through the armor on the right torso, melting away at the sensitive structure underneath. Too bad it had already exhausted the ammunition for its Zeus LRM-15s. She could use a lucky break right about now.

Suddenly, short ranged missiles began screaming off the tops of the hardened buildings all around her, coalescing on the Kurita 'Mech, wreathing it from top to bottom in explosions. Dawg! The grunt was getting her back, his jump infantry squad firing from the rooftops. A fraction of a second later, they were all streaming away on their jump packs, soaring through the air on small jets of flame as they shifted positions.

Keeping its feet, the Trebuchet fired back at her with its own trio of lasers, all Magna Mk II mediums. She grunted as if feeling the pain of her 45-ton 'Hawk as its left arm collapsed in on itself, falling to the ground smoking. Then her chest went red, another of the lasers penetrating her armor. Her 'Mech stumbled, then staggered as her gyro took damage, but kept its feet.

Fighting to keep a few dozen meters between them, she fired again. Damn, losing that arm had cost her a third of her firepower! She glanced nervously at the wire diagram, her entire right side and remaining arm already glowing orange. Her chest was already compromised, she was hurting bad.

Her Harmon heavy went low, hitting the left leg of the 'Bucket. She howled in frustration. If only it'd have hit the mine damaged right leg it would probably have dropped! Her medium laser penetrated the right torso, but there wasn't anything useful left there anyway.

Now rivers of heavy machine gun fire rained down from reinforced nests built all along the top of the 'Mech hangar where Dawg's squad had fallen back too. Tracers lit up the night as the heavily caliber slugs ate away at the exposed right torso, hammering relentlessly deeper and deeper as Rachel held her breath praying.

The 50-ton 2nd Legion 'Mech sent its three Magnas at her again. The first drilling deeper into her exposed center torso but blissfully failing to finish destroying her already weakened gyro. The second hit her left leg, the only place left with any significant amount of armor, but the last one vaporized a heat sink in the right leg, almost severing it entirely. It probably wouldn't hold if she was forced to jump.

Then, with a tumultuous screech, the right torso of the Trenchbuchet disintegrated under Dawg's infantry's concentrated machine gun fire, sending its right arm, with its two medium lasers, plummeting to the ground.

Now that about evens things back up, she thought grimly.

She was now literally with her back against the wall, or the 'Mech hangar in this case. She was out of room, the TBT-5N would be on her in seconds and it would take a miracle to survive if the battle got physical.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a glinting, flashing blur of metal illuminated by the explosions of short range missiles. Her stomach fell like a rock. The Expeditionary Force commander's Zeus assault 'Mech was on its knees. The image was burned forever into her mind. The Samauri drawing back its flaming sword. Where had it gotten that!? And then plunging it straight into the chest of Hauptman Henley's 'Mech impaling it. She shuddered involuntarily as his lifeless 'Mech slumped to the ground. Was that to be her fate as well?

The fast closing Kurita Trebuchet blocked out the horrible image, and she jerked her reticle over, thumbing her Harmon heavy and medium for what would likely be the last time. With the entire right side already destroyed, her lasers burned deep into its chest, but once again failing to damage the enemy 'Mechs engine or gyro. She slammed her fist down on the control surface screaming at her fate.

Dawg's infantry, still ensconced on the top of the 'Mech hangar continued to pour machine gun fire into the Trebuchet, but Rachel could tell their rate of fire had dropped precipitously. They must have already exhausted the prepared positions, and were having to reload.

The Trebuchet fired it only remaining weapon, the Magna in its left arm. Everything slowed to a crawl as she watched it head straight for her right leg. She was already bracing herself as the leg gave way. She managed to hold her 'Hawk upright for a second, by leaning against the wall of the 'Mech hangar, but with her left arm gone, she just couldn't maintain it, and slid drunkenly off the side of the wall.

The force of her fall damaged the engine reactor shielding, filling her cockpit with a bloody red light and screeching klaxons. Arm destroyed, leg destroyed, gyro damaged, engine damaged. She was finished.  
Her com suddenly crackled to life. Another female voice?

"Not very gentlemanly to hit a lady, especially while she's down. Looks like you need a lesson in manners, snake."

At almost 200 kph, Kitten's 10-ton Ripper VTOL came absolutely screaming across the night sky. With pin point precision, she sent its two Omicron 950 medium lasers directly into the Trebuchet's exposed center torso coring it.

From her cockpit, Rachel could hear pieces of the ruined TBT-5N clanking off her downed Phoenix Hawk. She was spending way too much time on the ground these days.

Kitten's Ripper was gone in a flash, just as quick as it had appeared, it vanished. Rachel could hear the whump, whump of the Rifleman's autocannons as they tried to track it, and whispered a prayer for her safety.

-

Chapter 10

Vega  
Draconis Combine  
3039

Dozer floored his 50-ton Drillson hovertank accelerating it to 150 kph. He was going to run the gauntlet.

Probably not his best idea, quite possibly his last, but the command was on the verge of collapse. He'd been a tanker for over twenty years. Might even be the best in the LCAF, truth be told. Still, he wasn't sure exactly why he'd signed on with the Hauptman. Must be that damned paternal instinct in him.

He took one look at those four boys, another look at the orders from the Hauptman-General, and knew they didn't stand a chance in hell. It had diversionary raid stamped all over it. Diversionary raid being military speak for suicide run. And they were clueless. They had stars in their eyes, dreams of glory on their minds, and all the enthusiasm of a boy on his first trip to the whore house.

If anyone lets you pick the 'Mech of your choice for a mission, you better wise up fast to the fact they don't expect to see you again. That's why they're sweetin' the pot. Like kids in a candy store with a wad of Kroners burning a hole in their pockets, they saw it as an opportunity to drive the 'Mech of their fantasies.

They hadn't made bad choices, mind you, although he was a bit surprised when the youngest boy picked a 'Hopper. The Zeus, Warhamer, Thunderbolt, they were always in the holovids, scrapping 'Mechs left and right as though they were invincible gods of the battlefield.

But the Grasshopper? Hell, they didn't even make those anymore. Hadn't been a new one made since Lantren Coporation's factory on Bryant was destroyed in the Second Succession War almost 400 years ago. Why did he know that, anyway?

Well, he had to admit one thing, that boy Sigil was one helluva tech. He spent every spare nanosecond he had crawling all over that 'Hopper, and by the time he was finished, hell, it might as well have been new. Maybe even better than new. He'd made a few mods to it while he was tearing it apart and rebuilding it from the ground up. Course his gunnery sucked, but you can't have everything.

He wrenched his wandering mind back to the battlefield. Let's thread the needle shall we?

'Mech jocks were always underestimating what a good tanker could do, and it looked liked it was time teach his favorite lesson again. That, and help keep the Hunchy and Alley Cat off that girl's Phoenix Hawk. She'd have her hands full enough with the Trebuchet.

His Drillson rocketed off, bisecting two buildings, blowing straight past the Trenchbucket, then passing right in between the Kurita HBK-4G and the PNT-9R. As he passed between the two surprised 'Mech jocks, he nailed the Panther with everything he had, even the long range missiles, though that was just to add to the effect.

His turret mounted Cyclops Eye heavy laser left a long gouge in the Panther's right leg, as his dual Kicker machine guns and matched HoverTech twin-racks fired. The Panther stumbled backwards as it took damage scattered all over its chassis, causing its arm mounted Lord's Light particle cannon to fire harmlessly into the air.

A couple of missiles from its Telos Four-Shot exploded against his front armor, but that wasn't what he was worried about.

He was worried about the Tomodzuru Type 20. That was why he was racing at flank speed. Hoping to get out of range of that deadly weapon as quick as possible. Thank the Archon, the Drillson was seriously fast.

He heard the lethal roar of the Tomodzuru firing. He recognized it instantly. It was the kind of weapon that once you heard it, you'd never forget. Ever.

Then the Drillson heaved and started bucking as he fought the controls. The entire front side armor has been stripped completely bare. It was actually a miracle he'd survived even a single shot from the devastating cannon.

The Hovertank side-slipped wildly, but he kept his foot stomped on the throttle. Only putting space between him and the Hunchy would save him. Although, he figured this is one battle he might not survive. It was insanity to go up against a Hunchback in a hovertank, deep down even he knew it. Even assaults respect the 50-ton HBK.

He slewed the Drillson around, barely controlled chaos, but he'd opened up the range. He let loose with the Cyclops Eye and the Light Crossbow LRM again targeting the 35-ton Panther. Missile exploded all over its left leg as the heavy laser hit center mass. Not bad. There was an outside chance he could drop it next round if he could survive that long.

The Panther's Lord's Light cannon slammed into the right side of the tank, damaging a couple of the fans, taking a good 20 klicks off his top speed. And speed equals life in a hover.

Well, he'd certainly got their attention. Both the 2nd Legion 'Mechs had turned away from the depot as they sought to pin him down. That part of the mission accomplished.

He took a deep breath, quickly checking his Evil Eye targeting and tracking system. Ok, it was time. The T-bolt and 'Hopper had already dropped, now both the Hauptmans were down too. It was just the 'Hammer, Dawg's squad, and him.

He watched as the Trebuchet suddenly went down, followed by streams of tracers from the enemy Rifleman's Imperator-A autocannons filling the sky. Oh, ya, Kitten too. Things must be getting desperate if she's engaging in that tiny mosquito of hers. Got a nice bite, though, he chuckled.

He brought the Drillson around again, his foot never leaving the throttle. He slewed across the battlefield, finally straightening up at almost 120 km/h, and pointed directly at the Hunchback.

He let loose with another fully volley of weapons at the Alley Cat. The Crossbow sending its missiles exploding across the damaged right leg, destroying its foot and one of its Lexington Liftor jump jets. That'd slow it down a bit at least.

The Cyclops bore into its center mass once again, and he could tell from how the 'Mech jerked awkwardly he'd hit the gyro. Short ranged missiles exploded across its right side, but the stubborn 'Mech wasn't going to go down. Damn.

He'd always got a kick out of military acronyms. And one of them popped unbidden into his mind. M.A.D. Yep. That's exactly what this was. Mutually Assured Destruction. Why was that suddenly so funny?

He was laughing crazily as he slammed his Drillson into the left leg of the Hunchback as the familiar buzz of the Tomodzuru filled his ears.

-

There were 'Mechs converging on his Warhammer from three directions, led by a one-armed, sword wielding 80-ton Samauri. A damaged Panther approached from another side, and the Rifleman from yet another.

Lt. Hamilton was the last Lyran 'Mech left standing.

This is getting good.

He canted both Donals apart, sending azure bolts of supercharged particles slamming into both the Panther and Samauri simultaneously as they returned fire with their own PPCs and short range missiles.

The first Donal went straight through the Panther's right torso, sending its arm cartwheeling away before penetrating the engine shielding. Blue coolant cascaded down it's chest and legs as four missiles from its Telos went arcing up towards Dawg's infantry on the roof of the 'Mech bay.

The second Donal cored through the damaged left torso of the charging Samauri as it sent its remaining six rack at the infantry hunkered down on the roof. It turned as if in disbelief looking at it's now ruined left side, the dangerous sword wielding arm now severed off. But it came on anyway.

Damn I'm good.

Then his 'Hammer was rocked by their return fire. The Panther's Lord's Light tore into the right side of his chest, the last undamaged location on his 'Mech. It's big brother, the Lord's Thunder hit him dead center, vaporizing the remaining armor and beginning to eat away at his guts, but somehow failing to damage anything critical.

He saw the roof covered in explosions as ten short range missiles detonated against it. Out of the fire and smoke, the remaining jump infantry took to the sky bounding towards the damaged building at his back.

Now he taking fire from the rear as the Rifleman's Imperator As sent slug after slug into his rear armor, then it added its heavy Magna to the mix, until the entirety of his rear armor was all but gone.

He backed his 'Mech into the cavernous hole in the storage building made by the downed Kurita Archer, seeking whatever little cover it might provide. He'd just have to suck up the RFN in his rear, there wasn't anywhere else to go.

Time to get up close and personal. Good thing he'd showered earlier. Was the holovid cam still rolling? Man, wait till Sig sees this! His mind scattered as the three 2nd Legion 'Mechs bore down on him.

Guess it's gonna get a little hot.

He flipped off the field inhibitors. On both Donals.

-

Dawg and what was left of his squad leapt from the 'Mech hangar to the roof of the damaged storage building where Hamilton was making his final stand. He saw the Panther and armless Samurai crashing into the Warhammer just as he lifted off again, hurling himself towards the 2nd Legion Rifleman.

His men were all around him, riding their own jets of pure flame. More had survived the SRM attack than he had first thought, he realized. Not all of them, but most of them for sure.

Time to ride the beast.

They swarmed over the Rifleman like ants at a picnic. The Kurita pilot desperately wind milling his arms, but built without both lower or hand actuators, he was practically helpless.

The other interesting detail about the Rifleman was that it had notoriously thin rear armor. Real thin. It had same rear armor as a 20-ton Wasp, even though it weighed three times as much.

Another design flaw he was going to ruthlessly exploit.

He was momentarily distracted as a thunderous explosion sent the Rifleman swaying, followed by a hammering sonic shockwave that dislodged a few of his men, sending them scattering like leaves to the ground.

He couldn't help but turn and look behind him. By the Archon!

The entire storage building had collapsed, burying Hamilton and the two Kurita 'Mechs under tons of hardened ferrocrete.

The crazy bastard had blown up the building! On himself!

Even as he looked at the ruins, his hands, trained by countless hours of battle and practice, had already affixed the satchel charge to the sensitive rear of the Rifleman.

He took a quick scan of his surroundings. About a dozen of his men were planting their pentagylcerine charges as well.

Hey, he only used the good stuff. If your gonna throw yourself at a multi-ton, armored war machine, might as well make it count.

He flipped the switch on the timer and rocketed off followed by the rest of his squad.

Seconds later, a series of explosions erupted all along the rear of the 2nd Legion Rifleman.

Oh, did I forget to mention the designers chose to store the autocannon ammunition right on top of the fusion engine? He snickered.

As if on cue, the 60-ton Rifleman behind him was ripped apart from the inside, sending hot, burning 'Mech scrap flying in every direction.

-

The sudden silence blanketing the battlefield was thicker than the smoke rising from the ruins of, what had been only minutes before, over a thousand tons of state of the art military hardware. Nothing moved. Only the crackle of flames punctuated by the occasional pop of exploding munitions was left.

The 2nd Legion was finished. She was shocked by the realization. Even after destroying the Lyran field headquarters without a single loss, Tai-sa Heise had still failed.

The Irregulars would land at the StarPort in New Eqypt with only the local garrison left to try and stop their advanced Star League 'Mechs. The main body of the 3rd Lyran Guard had finally come awake and was organizing a supporting advance on the city.

She blinked, then blinked again, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek.

She felt the overwhelming urge to say something. To somehow mark the endless struggle of life and death she had just witnessed.

She thumbed the open frequency.

"This is Cho-sa Hiyama Yamoto. Commanding Officer of the 2nd Legion of Vega. To the 3rd Lyran Expeditionary Force, I honor you. You stood strong against the Dragon and have proven yourselves to be valiant warriors. I commend you to your ancestors. You have given many 2nd Legion MechWarriors a chance to regain their honor. They asked only for the chance to die in battle against a worthy foe. As a sign of my respect, I leave you the battlefield and the city of New Egypt."

She switched over to the Kurita command frequency.

"This is Cho-sa Hiyama Yamoto. Commanding Officer of the 2nd Legion of Vega. Commence loading of the DropShips immediately and evacuate the city. Air transport wings one and two, land at coordinates 75.8 by 23.3, designation Cherry Blossom. Futao lance proceed to Cherry Blossom bypassing the supply depot. Hitsumi and I will rendezvous with you there."

She took one last lingering look at the battlefield where the 2nd Legion had been broken. A small movement caught her eye and she punched up the magnification.

It was a ragged line of Lyran soliders. They were saluting her Cyclops.

Then she turned, Hitsumi's Jaegermech following her, as they made their way to Cherry Blossom. Alone. 


	2. Book 2 - Carbonis

Chapter 1

Galatea  
Lyran Commonwealth  
3041

Colonel Jason Henley sat behind his gunmetal desk in his office on Galatea. He'd outfitted their entire quarters straight from the local Lyran military surplus store. Gave it a sense of home. As he looked around, it struck him that he'd basically cloned the entire setup from his time with the 3rd Lyran Guards. Old habits, die hard.

He looked back down at the terminal screen. People were coming out of the Periphery to join his newly founded unit. He was flooded with personnel applications. He needed a MechWarrior, another tanker, and a DropShip crew. Dawg need eight more soldiers to get his squad back up to full strength. Let Dawg deal with those.

Unless he wanted to grow larger. He shoved that thought aside, he needed to make some C-bills first.

Vega. He sighed. In the end, it had all been for nothing. His former command, the 3rd Lyran Expeditionary force, basically a reinforced lance, had destroyed a full company of 2nd Legion 'Mechs outside of New Egypt, taking possession of a critical repair and supply facility.

Then, the 2nd Legion launched a diversion, followed by a surprise attack on the 3rd Guard field headquarters, destroying it.

That's when they swung back around to the depot. His reinforced lance held off a heavy company of 2nd Legion 'Mechs, led by their Commanding Officer. Who, incidentally, was piloting a 80-ton Hatamoto-Chi that, at the time, had never been seen before.

The ensuing melee cost him his command. When all was said and done, all of his 'Mechs were destroyed, including the two from the surviving members of the field headquarters. He'd lost the hovertank, and a third of the Jump Infantry too. Dozer was killed, eight of Dawg's men dead, and Hamilton was so badly injured after a year of reconstructive surgery he was now practically a cyborg.

They'd all been shipped back to Skye afterwards. It wasn't long after that the tides turned on Vega, and the 3rd Lyran, as well as Rhonda's Irregulars, we're forced back off planet. They'd held Vega, for what, a matter of months?

The whole affair was packaged up, all neat and tidy. Now it was referred to as The War of 3039.

Still, he owed his current situation to that war. He'd stuck a deal with the Irregulars while he was there. He'd turn a blind eye to their activities, give them the Star League prototype CLNT 1-2R they'd captured, and in exchange, they'd transport the other salvage he'd omitted from the Post-Battle Report to Galatea for him.

Although, he also swore the parts and munitions they'd captured when they took the supply depot, dwindled down mysteriously fast.

Ok, so it wasn't his proudest moment in uniform. But you can't slam the door in the face of opportunity, so he'd taken it.

Later, his successful defense of the supply depot had allowed the Irregular's DropShip, the Junk Yard, to land directly at the StarPort in New Egypt with only the local garrison left to oppose them. It'd been an easy victory. The last of the campaign in retrospect.

Anyway, true to their word, once his tour of duty was over, there were six salvaged Kurita 'Mechs waiting for him on Galatea. Except they weren't salvage anymore. For whatever reason, the Irregulars had seen fit to repair and repaint them all. Fully functional. A Shadowhawk, Griffin, a replacement Clint, Panther, Jenner, and the prize. An 85-ton Battlemaster assault mech with a command console.

It had been the Kurita company commander's 'Mech. Luckily, when they initially assaulted the supply depot, it was in the hangar undergoing repairs. Never even made it onto the battlefield.

But that wasn't all. The Irregulars had also left him a battered Leopard DropShip. All the weapons had been stripped off, and also it smelled funny for some mysterious reason, but he wasn't about to complain.

Since then, he'd sold both the Panther and the Jenner to establish a warchest to help get his new unit started.

He'd already sunk a good two million C-bills into the Leopard just to get it to fly again. Well worth it, though. A good unit can haul its own butt around. And, most importantly, now he could conduct combat drops, or land on planet, something a commercial hire would never do, or, in the very least, charge outrageous fees to do so.

All he needed now was the right contract.

-

"What do you mean, multiple beams?" Sigil was bent over examining the innards of a seven ton heavy laser. "Man, this sucker is big!"

An immaculately dressed, heavily tattooed oriental man stood nearby.

He furrowed his eyebrows, long since tired of repeating the explanation.

"Think of it as multiple lasers all packaged together. Each individual beam fires for a brief moment, then a second beam briefly fires, followed by a third. This pattern is repeated, creating a pulsing effect. Hence the name, Pulse Laser. 306,250 C-bills. Non-negotiable."

Sigil studied the nearby technical readout intently frowning.

"It's only good for 300 meters, creates 25% more heat, and only does marginally more damage. I don't get it."

The man looked annoyed. "The rapid cycling of the laser makes it track more like a typical machine gun. You could, for example, walk your fire to the target, as opposed to having it correctly targeted before firing. This makes it a considerably more accurate weapons system, especially when moving at high speeds or jumping."

Sigil's mouth formed an "O" as he nodded vigorously.

"Why didn't you just say so in the first place!"

The tattooed man didn't bother to dignify his comment.

Sigil's mind was now racing a mile a minute. Improved accuracy was exactly what he needed. His lancemates were forever teasing him about his poor gunnery. Sadly, with good reason too. He flunked gunnery back at Sanglamore. That seemed like forever ago now.

Hmm. That laser generated almost as much heat as a particle cannon. If he hit his Clint's Andoran JJII's and fired that thing, the heat created would be enough to slow his 'Mech down instantly by a good 10 klicks . And if he added his two Martells, his targeting would be effected as well. Do it twice and he'd be shutting down in the middle of combat again.

He shook his head. "Nice weapon, but my Clint can't take that kind of heat. It'd shut me down."

The man in the suit actually smiled, revealing a pair of golden teeth, and motioned him to follow.

He stopped in front of what looked to be an unusually large BattleMech heat sink.

"This heat pump is made from a crystalline polymer instead of the traditional graphite based materials you are undoubtedly familiar with. The crystalline polymer is significantly lighter, albeit more bulky, allowing the coolant to disburse it's heat over a much larger surface area. Notice the size of the radiator. This unit disburses 200% of the heat of a standard heat pump, allowing you to effectively eliminate twice the heat for the same weight. It is our most popular item. Ten for 250,000 C-bills. All of our prices are non-negiotable."

Sigil bent down to examine it. Definitely bulkier. Probably couldn't even fit them into the legs, head, or engine compartment. Still, the Clint had ample torso space, and most of the heat sinks were integrated into the Pitban 240 anyway.

He stood back up, looking at the Oriental. "You need special coolant to run these things?"

"No. The efficiency is derived primarily from the increased size of the radiator. You can use your existing coolant."

Sigil did the math. "A cool 556,250 C-bills for the pulse laser and a set of these improved heat sinks." He whistled. "That's real money."

The man casually flicked his wrist, an electronic business card appearing in it. He handed it to Sigil.

"This contains my contact information and a ComStar account number for deposits if you wish to do business. Availability varies for each component almost daily. Good Day."

He escorted him out of the warehouse.

-

"Do you have any idea how much it costs to keep this unit running!?" Colonel Henley was getting his rage on.

"239,629 C-bills per month! Almost one million C-bills every four months! Four million C-bills a year! And, I've already sunk two million C-bills into the Leopard just so we could have something to haul your sorry ass around!"

"And, have we actually done anything yet?! No. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Unless you count cavorting with 'Mech bunnies or shooting down PPCs at the local watering hole! And guess what that pays, Leutenant? Big Fat Nothing. Which is exactly what you're going to get."

"I can't believe you have the audacity to stroll in here, having done absolutely nothing, and ask for half a million C-bills to give to some organized criminal syndicate in hopes they'll slip you a little tech!"

The Colonel suddenly launched to his feet, his fists pounding on the desk. Wow, it looked exactly like his old desk. Is this some kind of bizarre flashback?

"No. The answer is no. No. No. No. Now get out before I come right over this desk and bust your butt back to Private with my fist!"  
No sense fighting when he's in one of his moods.

"Yes, Haupt...uh...Colonel, sir! Immediately, sir! Yes, sir!"

Sigil fled.

-

Colonel Henley settled back down into his standard Lyran military issue rolling swivel chair.

He should have known getting promoted to Colonel meant logistics and paperwork.

Colonel. The rank seemed to come as part of a mercenary unit when you founded it. Apparently it didn't matter how large, how small, good, bad, ugly, whatever. Automatic Colonel.

Chief toilet paper orderer. Wonderful. Colonel means you have to worry about what your troops have to wipe their asses. Beautiful.

The terminal on his desk flashed, emitting a brief monotone. He looked down, thankful for the distraction.

-

The man who entered Colonel Henley's office wore the red bars of a MechWarrior in the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns. The thick white bar at the bottom signified his rank was Major. The name "Saxon" was embroidered on his khaki uniform.

"Good afternoon, Colonel Henley. Thank you for taking the time to see me. I understand you have some questions regarding Contract #8634HH7."

"Have a seat Major Saxon." Henley gestured to a swivel chair, identical to his own, opposite his desk as he continued to speak.

"You stipulate Liaison Command Rights in the contract. Elaborate."

"Standard operating procedure, Colonel. Assuming you take an AFFS JumpShip, I'll remain onboard while you make the drop onto Carbonis. I'll monitor your progress on both the primary and secondary objectives. As you know from the contract, the destruction of the IMB warehouse fulfills your obligation, but we are also offering a substantial bonus if you can cripple or even destroy the main IMB production lines. If you pursue the secondary, I will make the damage assessment which determines the amount of that bonus."

The Davion Major leaned back in his swivel chair. "Don't worry, Colonel, I'm not here to tell you how to do your job, or to micromanage your unit. Strictly an observer."  
"What Intelligence can you provide regarding the IMB installations?"

"If you agree to the contract, we will provide satellite imagery of the facility, and Avalon's best guess as to the disposition and makeup of the 9th Marik Militia."

Colonel Henley leaned across his desk. "If I take this mission, I'll have to conduct either a combat drop, or land my DropShip in hostile territory. 115,000 C-bills for transport won't even come close to covering my risk, and I doubt a commercial hire would even be willing. Would the AFFS provide DropShip transport as well?"

"How about 230,000 C-bills for transport? Your correct, this operation carries significantly more risk than most contracts. It's certainly not garrison duty or pirate hunting. I believe that is reflected in the base pay of 2.39 million, and we would prefer not to furnish a DropShip."

"Battle Loss Compensation of 20%, does that include my DropShip?"

The Major paused a moment. "Normally, Colonel, it would not. It's specifically limited to battlefield damage only. Given this is an objective raid, I may be willing to write in an exception."

Henley sat back in his chair. "Don't get me wrong, Major, the terms you are offering are generous. Full Salvage rights and the potential for a very lucrative bonus are all quite attractive."

"I'll tell you what, Colonel, if you take this contract, I'll cover your DropShip under Battle Loss Compensation and up the Transport remuneration to 230,000 in exchange for modifying your Salvage Rights from Full to Exchange."

Colonel Henley stood up, extending his hand across his desk. "Thank you for your time, Major. I'll let you know my decision in the next few days."

Major Matt Saxon stood up, shaking Henley's hand with a firm tight grip, and looking directly into his eyes. "I hope you will. It was only the recommendation from Rhonda's Irregulars on file with the Mercenary Review Board that even got you on the potential list of AFFS contractors. We wouldn't normally consider a newly formed unit for this kind of mission."

-

"Man, I need some cash," Sigil muttered to himself as he paced back and forth in front of his Clint. All it had on it was a gray primer coat. Well, he had two options, really.

First, he could try to hide the quarter million C-bills for the newtech heatsinks in the repair and refit order the Colonel asked him to pull together. The entire order would likely come out to about a million C-bills in armor, weapons, ammunition, myomer, structure, sensor kits, actuators, and all the various pieces and parts needed to maintain and repair the unit's four BattleMechs.

Doubtful it'd work, though. The Colonel had been obsessing about money ever since he'd signed the lease on their new digs here on the Mercenary Star. He'd nickel and dime his Purchase Requisition to death. The man was so tight they were using single ply toilet paper.

Sigil chuckled to himself. When he'd remarked on that in the lounge, the Colonel had looked him straight in the eye and said, "If your ass is that sensitive, Leutanant, fold it in half."

Not that he'd admit it to anyone, but that's exactly what he'd been doing ever since.

Anyway, the Colonel would catch him if he padded up the supply order that much, if not immediately, then definitely later. Then, there'd be hell to pay.  
Ya, that might get the whole unit pissed at him. Better scratch that idea.

That left The Games. Which he knew instinctively was a bad idea. But the allure of the forbidden pulls as inexorably as a black hole. And sucks you down the worm hole.

-

Sigil tried to look casual as he strolled into the Barracks. All the MechWarriors had their own private quarters, but Dawg's jump infantry shared a huge common space. He had said something about team cohesion, predicting each other's movements, reading minds, and some other such nonsense. Looked to him like they were just sleeping and showering together.

Dawg's brawny, heavily muscled form was cleaning his field stripped Mauser 9000 assault rifle. An Imperator sub-machine gun, Sternsacht heavy pistol, a holdout needler, wasn't that illegal?, vibrodagger, and a collection of smaller knives were laid out in perfect order on the table, next to the cleaning supplies and rags. Some kind of card game was going on at another table further way.

Just Looking at Dawg intimidated Sigil, even the smell of the barracks was intimidating. Nothing but gun oil and sweat.

"Uh...hey, Dawg. I mean… err.. Captain Dawg." ****** he was already turning red.

Sigil paused, took a deep breath and tried again. "Hello, sir."

Dawg kicked out a chair from under the table sending it screeching at him. "Sit down, and stop with all the formal crap, Sig. Whadda ya want?"

Sigil managed to stop the chair an instant before it would have smashed into his most sensitive area. He quickly sat down.

"How'd you know I want something?"

"I told ya before, Sig. I read minds. And yours is like an open book. You should plays cards with the guys back there sometime. They'd love you." Dawg flipped his thumb over his shoulder towards the group of marines behind him, laughing.

"No thanks, I uh... don't play cards. I'm not the gambling type. Besides, I'm flat broke. Actually, that's why I came to see you. I need, uhh..., I mean I was wondering if you'd be willing to help me out?"

Dawg narrowed his eyes as he looked Sigil over, his hands continuing to mechanically clean his assault rifle, having long ago memorized the required movements.  
It wasn't that unusual of a request. Everybody knew he was independently wealthy. His father owned Bulldog Enterprise's TKG-150 Tokugawa production plant on Northwind. The Tokugawa was a wheeled 60-ton heavy tank sporting a SarLon MaxiCannon AC/10.

Sure, it wasn't the most inspiring design, but anyone who sold military hardware these days was a rich, rich man. The Inner Sphere's appetite for destruction was voracious, and it chewed up and spit out men and machines just as fast as they could be trained or manufactured.

Kitten knew he was loaded too, that was for sure. She was forever dropping not so subtle hints about her dream of being an Aerospace pilot. Normally he might be tempted, but, unfortunately for her, that meant she wouldn't be able to ferry his squad around in her Ripper VTOL anymore. And he wasn't giving up his ride.  
His hands began automatically reassembling his Mauser 9000. "How much you need, Sig, and for how long?"

Sigil's hands flew up defensively as he shook his head back and forth. "Oh! No, no! I mean, I'm not here for a loan, Dawg. I just wanted to know if you...," Sigil's eyes began darting about the barracks, "wanted to, uh…, go somewhere with me. I mean, you know, if you're not doing anything later tonight." His wandering eyes returned to Dawg's face who looked terribly amused.

Dawg actually stopped putting his assault rifle back together, crossing his thick, corded arms over his chest. "Stop pussy footing around the place, Sigil. If you want my help, you gotta speak English. What kinda trouble are you in now?"

Sigil looked suspiciously around at all the other troopers in barracks.

Dawg frowned. "Whatever you have to say to me, you can say to any of my men. We're all like one great hive mind. So, spit it out, or I'll spit you right outta here for wasting my time."

Sigil took a steadying breath. "You know they run games here on Galatea. Out in some of the far flung training fields surrounding the Hiring Hall. One on one 'Mech versus 'Mech combat. You've probably seen some of the holovids of it. I think they do individual man on man personal combat too, Ultimate Fighting Championship kinda stuff, and who knows what else. I'm..., uh..., going out there tonight and I wandered if you might come along with me. It's, you know, kind of a rough crowd out there." He gave Dawg a pleading look.

Dawg's voice boomed out across the Barracks. "Operation Carnival. Primary Objective: Keep Sigil alive. Secondary: Watch expensive, customized military hardware get blown into scrap by desperate, down on their luck MechWarriors. Men and women fight each other to the death for cold hard cash using martial styles from throughout the Inner Sphere, get drunk, and lie with women of ill repute. Anyone interested?"

In perfect unison, every marine in the Barracks jumped simultaneously to their feet, turning towards their Captain, saluted and said, "Aye, Sir!" They remained standing at attention, Dawg hadn't even turned around to look.

"Give me the when and the where Sigil. Looks like we're all going. Can't let you Mechjocks hog up all the fun like you do the glory. Happy now? I don't think anyone'll be stupid enough to mess with you when you've got a platoon of anti-mech jump infantry at your back. They know we're as crazy as hell as just as fearless.

Somehow Sigil didn't look entirely pleased. He leaned over the table, saying to Dawg in a low voice, "Uh..., I'm one of the desperate, down on their luck MechWarriors."

-

Chapter 2

Galatea  
Lyran Commonwealth  
3041

Sigil was sweating in the still cool cockpit of his 40-ton Clint. Man, she piloted like a dream though. Fast and nimble, she felt like an extension of himself, like she could read his mind. A real quality machine. They just didn't make them like this anymore. Actually, the truth was they couldn't even if they wanted to. The design and assembly lines had been lost hundreds of year ago. She was an antique.

And the electronics. Unbelievable. Originally he'd thought the Tek TruTrak was the best. Not anymore. The Sloane had a built in battle computer. It held two primary targets, 6 secondary, had target ID, damage ID, a lock-on indicator, full 360 degree scanning arc with infrared, electromagnetic and motion modes, and a lock-on range of almost 1500 meters. Aerospace targeting, fire support, and volley support were all built-in. And it had twelve expansion slots to boot. I mean what couldn't it do?

He stared out over the arena field. At some point it must have been a huge manufacturing facility. Now, the ceiling was gone, large stretches of the ferrocrete floor has been reduced to treacherous looking rubble. A series of fifteen and thirty feet tall blast shields were scattered about irregularly providing the hope of partial and even full cover. The laser scars, missile craters, and the tell-tale pock marks of ballistic fire blanketed everything.

The announcer's voice broke the low thrum of his cockpit.

"Ladies and Gentleman, do we have a treat for you! Tonight, the one and only Scotty McDaniel takes on a decorated veteran from the War of 3039! And it gets even better. You have no idea how lucky you are to be here tonight! McDaniel will be piloting the 45-ton murderous Hatchetman we all know and love as Lizze Borden!"

Sigil could actually hear the thunderous roar of the crowd from high up in the bleachers perched all along the edges where the roof had originally met the walls. There were also a number of hardened private skyboxes at intervals around the arena, their darkened plate glassteel facades leering down at the killing grounds below.

At the far end of the arena, about 900 meters away, a huge two-story blast door opened and his opponent stepped onto the floor. He raised his axe, slowing turning 270 degrees to salute the crowd. A bloody, dripping edge had been painted all along the edge of his Hatchet, and his 'Mech had a mottled gray, white, and black camouflage which blended in well with the stark industrial setting.

His Sloane painted an instant lock on him. The damage silhouette, wire diagram and schematics popped up instantly, followed by detailed weapons information. Defiance Killer Autocannon, max range 450 meters, twenty rounds magazine. Two Defiance B3M Medium Lasers, max range 270 meters. Armor factor 104, max speed 64.8 kph, jump capacity 120 meters.

The Sloane overlaid color coded firing arcs showing the threat range of the weapon systems, as well as maximum movement projections in all directions. Then it overlaid the same information regarding his own 'Mech and put them all on one of display areas of his H.U.D. You gotta love battle computers.

His advantage was obvious. Range. His Armstrong AC/5 had 90 meters on the Defiance. It showed up on his H.U.D. like a big donut. The sweet spot from which he could hit the Hatchetman yet remain outside of its threat range. Yep, stick to that, and this would be the easiest money he ever made.

The announcer's voice returned as the crowd settled back down.

"His opposition, a graduate of the prestigious Sanglamore Academy on Skye, a former Lieutenant in the renowned 3rd Lyran Guards, he saw action on Vega during the War of 3039, and piloting, what could be the rarest 'Mech in the Inner Sphere today, Ladies and Gentleman. Let's hear it for Sigil and his 40-ton Star League era CLNT-2-3T Clint!"

There was another muted roar from the crowd. He raised his articulated left hand pointing a single finger across the field directly at the bloody Hatchetman. He paused a moment for effect, then brought his 'Mechs hand back, drawing his finger across its throat. He'd seen that on one of the holovids out of Solaris VII one time, and thought it was cool.

The crowd went wild crazy. He could feel their screams vibrating his glassteel canopy and chuckled to himself. Everybody enjoys a good show. He could get into this.  
The announcer's voice broke in one last time.

"Tonight's fight is for a purse of 500,000 C-bills. Victor gets Exchange Rights. Last 'Mech standing wins. Ladies and Gentleman, I can guarantee you right now, you will never see another fight like the one you are going to witness tonight! To our contestants, good luck and thank you in advance!"

The crowd's roar grew louder as they continued to scream unabatedly. He could see tiny little figures way up in the bleachers standing up. He zoomed in.

They were jumping, stomping, and acting like total madmen. High-fiving each other, it looked like a number of them were copying his throat slitting gesture.

The announcer's voice broke in yet again.

"Blakes Blood, people! The Clint pilot is calling for a DeathMatch! Unbelievable! This changes everything! Didn't I tell you this would be a memorable fight, well, believe me folks, it already is! And, it hasn't even started yet! There will be short delay while we confirm. As reminder for those of you who've never been lucky enough to witness a DeathMatch, we will also be taking additional wagers on method and time and of death. Standby."

Sigil was still blinking rapidly when his private comlink crackled to life. "Mechwarrior Sigil, Scotty McDaniel confirms DeathMatch. Salvage right are now Full. In addition, we need to confirm you've disabled the auto-ejection system on your 'Mech."

He stared for a long moment at the speaker as if he'd never seen it before.

"Mechwarrior Sigil, confirm auto-ejection is disabled."

All he managed to get out was a strangled, "What!?"

"Mechwarrior Sigil, DeathMatch confirmed, please disable auto-ejection."

"DeathMatch? Huh? What's the hell is going on!?"

A different voice came over the comlink. An older one, carrying a thick Northwind accent.

"Mechwarrior Sigil. You gave the hand signal for DeathMatch. We have it recorded. Scotty McDaniel has confirmed DeathMatch. Disable you auto-ejection or you will immediately forfeit the match, and since it's a DeathMatch, your life as well. It's all in the contract, not that you have time to read it right now, laddy."

Forfeit the match? Forfeit his life!? He looked across the arena field at the Hatchetman his eyes growing bigger by the second. Lizzie was drawing her hatchet across her neck, followed by a series of brutal chopping motions, then she pointed right back at him.

Understanding came swiftly. Followed by a moment of abject terror.

Sigil tried to bring his breathing back under control before he passed out cold in his cockpit. This is no different than live combat, Sig, you've faced certain death before, calm down. Live Combat. This is no different than live combat. No different. No different.

He steadied his breathing.

"Sending visual confirmation now." He transmitted the live cockpit cam back to their central operations center.

He flipped the auto-ejection circuit to "Off". An immediate auditory confirmation followed.

A full-bodied female voice completely devoid of any accent whatsoever came out over the speakers.

"Please confirm Auto-Ejection disable. This is not a recommended action at this time."

He looked around his cockpit, briefly disoriented. "Uh...Confirm?"

This voice returned, "Auto-Ejection is now disabled." A new indicator appeared on his H.U.D. It looked like a little head with a line bisecting it. It pulsed red.

"Mechwarrior Sigil. We have confirmed. Good Luck. The match will begin in three minutes."

-

Dawg had rented one of the glassteel private skyboxes for him and his platoon. It was a rare opportunity to give his men a little R&R. They'd already gotten Sigil checked in, through what passed for security, and into his 'Mech. He couldn't do much more than that until the match was over. For better or worse.

The skybox was plush. Full bar, a menu, a cute little server, a view of the entire complex, and a number of huge video displays of the arena floor. One display was an entire bank of every camera in the field. You could press any one and get a full rez version. Fancy.

Of course, there was also the produced feed, overlaid with each 'Mech's telemetry data, play-by-play voice over, and the color guy spouting all kinds of random 'Mech trivia.

The Hatchetman replays caught his attention. It was a montage of Lizzie Borden shearing off 'Mech arms, legs, and torsos. Man, this guy must have been at it for a while.

Then they started showing slow-motion replays of Lizzie decapitating a Hermes II, followed by a Vindicator, then a Phoenix Hawk. Oh man. What had that boy gotten himself into now?

He shook his head. Well, he had stones, that's for sure. He charged that 2nd Legion assault lance back on Vega and managed to take down a Stalker and an Awesome before his 'Hopper went down.

Yea, but he'd had Hamilton's Warhammer backing him up then. This time he was flying solo.

Suddenly, he could hear the yells of the crowd through the insulated walls of the skybox. He looked around. The word "DeathMatch" was stamped in red block letters across the main feed. It slowly transformed into blood and oozed down the screen, then reappeared in the bottom left corner.

Oh shit.

-  
Sigil's eyes were glued to the lights. After an eternity, they started. Red. Red. Red.

He had superior mobility, but he needed as much room as possible to really make it count.

Yellow. Yellow.

And he had range. He had 90 meters on that Defiance Killer.

Green.

He shoved the throttle to the max, the Clint accelerating so quickly he was shoved back into command couch. From zero to almost a hundred klicks an hour in just a few seconds.

Nothing fancy, just a charge straight ahead.

Lizzie topped out at about 65 kph. She started straight ahead, then swerved behind one of the shorter blast shields.

Ya, baby, 500 meters, he had her in his sweet spot already. The reticle seemed to be tracking the Hatchetman of its own accord. He thumbed the Armstrong sending a stream of slugs slamming into the blast shield, bullets ricocheting and send sparks everywhere.

Suddenly, the left side of the Clint jerked back, spinning him towards the right as he fought to keep his feet. What the hell?

The H.U.D. came alive instantly, speaking.

"Left arm breeched. No critical damage. Analyzing ballistics data. Recommend immediate evasive action."

He slammed on the Andoran JJIIs, sending the Clint arcing through the sky, jets of flame streaming from its feet and torso.  
Cover. I need full cover!

He twisted his torso mid-air, aiming his Armstrong at the Hatchetman once again as it sprinted out from its partial cover. He easily dropped the reticle over it, it felt like it just wanted to be there. He fired again, nailing the Hatchetman mid-stride in the center of its chest.

He landed behind the two-story tall blast shield just in time. He could hear it ringing as the Imperator tore into the reinforced ferrocrete.

"Ballistics analysis complete. Probable weapon type: LB-X advanced Class 10 autocannon. Maximum range 540 meters. Cluster munitions capable. Rebuilding firing arcs and movement projections. Target unknown HCT variant. Recommend activation of rapid fire mode and active scan of target."

His entire battle plan just disintegrated. The range difference had just vanished. Rapid Fire mode? I have no idea, but it sure as hell sounds good.  
"Engage Rapid Fire Mode." Sigil sprinted out from behind the barrier, arcing out wide, circling to the left of the HCT.

They were both waiting for each other.

"Rapid Fire Mode engaged successfully."

He squeezed and just kept holding down the Armstrong's trigger, as Lizzie leveled her Imperator right back at him.

The Armstrong spewed forth a river of hypervelocity slugs, stitching a long line starting at Lizzie's left arm and extending across her right torso.

The Clint's voice came to life again. "Jam Probability 12%...13%...14%...15%"

Just as he released the trigger, the Clint bucked violently, stumbling as Lizzie's Imperator tore away at its right leg.

"Right leg breeched. No critical damage."

Dammit, he'd stumbled into the rubble! His 'Mech skidded and careened as he wrenched the controls wildly trying to counteract the momentum.

Range 380 meters. He could feel Lizzie closing in on him as he brought his Clint back under control, skidding to a stop.

He swung the torso back around to the right. She enough Lizzie was smelling blood. She was coming dead at him in a dead run.

He saw the muzzle flashed an instant before his entire left arm was completely eaten away.

"Left arm destroyed. Left torso breeched. No critical damage."

He gritted his teeth and retaliated, the Armstrong once again hitting the left arm and right torso. Damn it's tough hide. He still hadn't breeched.

"Jam Probability 13%...14%...15%...16%"

Reluctantly, he let go. Without the Armstrong it'd be game over.

"Warning. Without immediate evasive action you will be within the targets full weapons range in 12 seconds."

He fired the Andoran's again. I gotta move!

Sigil sent the Clint in a graceful arc backwards, directly away from the axe wielding maniac.

Without slowing, Lizzie continued running, straight through the rubble, right at him, brandishing her deadly axe, seeking to close the range as quickly as possible now.  
They exchanged autocannon fire again. Again the Armstrong nailed the left arm, walking across to center mass.

"Target left arm breeched. Jam Probability 14%...15%...16%...17%"

Again he forced himself to release the trigger. He was practically up against the arena wall now.

His Clint was rocked backwards as the Imperator's depleted uranium slugs punched through his right torso like it was paper.

"Right torso breeched. Ammo explosion likely. Recommend immediate withdrawal."

The Last Jumpship was coming for him!

He screamed, "No! Dump Ammo! Engage Volley Fire!"

They both rocketed into the sky at the same time, blazing away with everything they had as they flew towards an almost certain mid-air collision, the Clint raining autocannon shells out of the rear as it dumped its ammo bin.

The first of Lizzie's dual Defiance B3M lasers slagged armor from the Clint's chest, but the second cored deep into the already exposed structure of the left torso.

Sigil responded with single pull of the trigger unleashing his own alpha-strike. The two Martell mediums combined to drill through the remaining armor on Lizzie's left torso and into the structure underneath as the Armstrong spent out its final rounds against her left leg.

Then her Defiance's muzzle vomited forth a devastating point blank shotgun blast, covering the entire Clint in a series of cluster explosions.

The smoke from the cluster munitions obscured what happened next as both 'Mechs passed with a few scant meters of each other. The entire audience collectively held its breath.

Both 'Mechs came spinning out of control from the cloud of thick gun smoke, Lizzie's hatchet buried deep in the Clint's chest.. But, her left leg had been blown clean off, and her left torso savaged so badly her left arm had been severed off as well.

Plummeting uncontrollably down to the ground, both 'Mechs slammed hard into the unyielding ferrocrete floor, the sound of crushing metal plates, twisting steel, and collapsing structure echoed thunderously throughout the arena. Their impact sent up another cloud of obscuring dust and debris.

Klaxons were ringing in Sigil's head, and the bitch just wouldn't shut up!

"Medium Laser destroyed. Jump Jet destroyed. Jump Capacity 150 meters. Left torso breeched. No critical damage. Left torso breeched. No critical damage. Left torso destroyed. Center torso breeched. Gyro Damaged. Center torso breeched. Gyro Destroyed. BattleMech incapable of standing."

He slammed to the ground, everything becoming blurry and indistinct, yet the woman just kept on talking.

"Right arm breeched. Autocannon damaged. Autocannon disabled. Autocannon out of ammunition. Right torso breeched. No critical damage. System Status: Critical. Weapon status 33%."

He tried to make his eye focus on something, anything, but everything was just smoke and strange, mesmerizing shapes.

He hit the stimpak strapped to his leg. Once. Twice. Then a third time. His vision cleared, as he was flooded with synthetic adrenaline, neurotransmitters, and powerful stimulants.

DeathMatch. The Sternsacht Heavy Pistol Dawg gave him!

He pulled the canopy release, clambering out of the cockpit, and staggered onto the still smoking battlefield.

He could make out the ruined form of the Hatchetman some 50 meters away. The entire left side was destroyed, fluids pouring like blood from Lizzie's mangled body.  
He lumbered towards it, his body so hopped up on drugs, he had no idea if he was even injured, and if so, how badly. All he knew was the hand wrapped around the grip of the Sternsacht still seemed to be responding.

He advanced on the head of the prone Hatchetman, spotting its splintered canopy.

Lizzie's remaining arm and leg twitched, as if she was trying to return to the world of the living.

Then Sigil emptied the Sternsacht's clip point blank into the already splintered cockpit canopy and she went perfectly still.

Pandemonium ensued as he felt the last vestiges of consciousness slipping rapidly away.

-

Dawg didn't waste a second. He sprinted out of the skybox onto the narrow balcony which looked out over the arena floor. With a flick of his wrist, the collapsible grappling hook snapped open, locking into position. He hooked it over the balcony railing a second before just leaping off and into the empty air.

He free fell about 100 feet, bracing himself as he activated the self-breaking belaying unit. His body jerked as he was brought to a bone jarring halt just feet from the arena floor. He hit the release, racing off towards the wreckage. He could already hear the first of his squad hitting the ferrocrete behind him. Good men, all of them, and fast.

He instinctively reached for his Sternsacht. Damn, he'd given it to Sigil just outside the Arena. Instead, his holdout needler appeared in one hand, vibrodagger in the other, as he closed in on the smoking wreckage.

The Clint's canopy had been popped open. A quick glance told him all he needed to know. The cockpit was splashed with blood, but there was no body. His men caught up with him, as he spotted the trail of blood leading towards the wrecked Hatchetman and raced off into the smoke once again.

As he approached the ruined 45-ton war machine, he saw a bloody smear running down the head of the Hatchetman, a gaping hole in its canopy, and the crumpled form of Sigil lying still in a pool of blood on the arena floor.

He yelled out. "Inflatable tourniquet, NOW! Emergency IV! Defib!" His hand circled over his head then pointed at Lizzie. "Secure the Hatchetman! Goddamit, where's Kitten when you need her!"

Three of his men advanced on the cockpit, a Mydron auto-pistol, a Nakajama and a Sunbeam laser pistol already trained on the canopy, braced against their other arms.  
His three other platoon members, started producing emergency medical supplies from various concealed pockets on their persons.

Just like his Clint, Sigil's left arm was in shattered ruins. He'd already lost so much blood it was only weakly trickling out at this point. He was already in shock. Pale, sweating, and non-responsive.

A tourniquet appeared in his hand, he quickly slipped it over the arm, pulling the auto-inflation, and grabbing the emergency plasma I.V, stabbing the needle directly into the right atrium of Sigil's heart.

The portable defibrillator came next. Pushing the remains of Sigil's cooling vest aside, he slapped the paddles onto his chest.

"Clear!" Sigil's body jerked up off the ferrocrete. "Clear!" He hit him again the paddles.

"Hatchetmans already been neutralized, Captain!", one of his men shouted back to him.

"Dammit, Sigil! Come on! I need the EpiPin! Now!"

One his men magically produced one, shoving it into his hand. He'd had them all come prepared for anything. You never knew what kind of situation you might find yourself suddenly thrust into. Although, field medic wasn't his strong suit, that was Kitten's.

"Captain, incoming!"

He jabbed the thick long needle of the epinephrine autoinjector into Sigil's chest with a meaty thunk.

"Establish a security perimeter. Don't let anyone through who isn't medical staff!"

Five of his men fanned out, encircling Dawg as he furiously worked on Sigil, their weapons all pointing outward as a vehicle came speeding towards them.

It was an old wheeled light APC. It made a hard turn left and screeched to a halt. His men dropped into defensive crouches, all six of them training their weapons on the hatch.

The hatch clanged open, and a huge, burly man clad in a plaid kilt emerged.

"That was one of the best ****** fights I've ever seen!" he bellowed out in his thick Northwind accent.

"Just one question left, I know ole Scotty's dead. How's the boy? He still alive?"

A small security detail in full flak suits and assault rifles emerged now from the APC behind him.

He held his hands up. "I don't want any misunderstandings. I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need to verify the outcome of the DeathMatch. I got a couple medtechs with me in the APC."

A pair of medtechs carrying trauma kits came piling out of the APC next. The burly man motioned towards one of them then pointed at the Hatchetman's head.

"Verify the exact time and cause of death of ol' Scotty over there." The medtech began clambering up the head of scrapped Hatchetman.

He then turned back to his own security detail. "Lower those ****** rifles before some accidentally gets shot, and stand down!"

He motioned for the other medtech to follow him. "Come with me, let's take a peek at the boy."

Dawg's men shifted positions, clustering closer together and blocking the big man's path. One of them shouted, "Captain! Unknown approaching with possible medical."

Dawg glanced up, he'd be reduced to performing mouth-to-mouth on the still unresponsive Sigil.

He growled, "Let 'em though. Keep your weapons trained on that detail! Ollie, Wendell, escort the two unknowns through and keep a sharp eye on 'em."  
The two passed through the Dawg's perimeter approaching the prone Sigil.

The burly man whistled. "Damn, looks like a flatliner to me. Take a look Les."

The medtech kneeled next to Sigil, flipping his trauma kit open and grabbing his portable medscanner. He ran a quick full body scan and paused, studying the readout.

"He's not dead yet, Angus. Brachial artery severed causing class IV hemorrhaging. Multiple compound fractures of the left humerus. Transverse fractures of the left radius and ulna. Grade 3 closed head injury. Numerous puncture, laceration and abrasion wounds. Second degree burns. He doesn't stand a chance in hell if we don't get an immediate medavac. He should be already dead!"

Dawg turned to Angus. "Call it in, NOW!"

"Whoa… don't get all excited now. I don't even know who you are." He held his hands wide open and out to his sides.

"Don't bullshit me unless you want a new face!" Dawg's holdout needler flashed into his hand and things began to get tense.

"Me and my men were with Sigil when he registered. He's a member of our unit. Call it in now, or there's gonna be another dead body here for pickup." His dead serious eyes bored in the Northwind native.

"Call in it Les. STAT medavac. And I want Johnson's crew, not those scrubs outta Helena. This guys a ****** hero! You have any idea how much money he just made me!?"

Dawg turned to his second, Ollie. "Get Kitten on the link. I want her up in the air following that medavac chopper. Make sure she takes 3rd platoon with her."

He turned to Angus, motioning at Sigil.

"I go where he goes. Period."

The rest of you, go with Angus here and arrange transport of the Clint and Hatchetman back to our hangar. Verify the half-million gets deposited into the unit account."

-

Chapter 3

Galatea  
Lyran Commonwealth  
3041

It was past midnight and parts of the Colonel's Battlemaster were scattered all over the floor of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force's 'Mech hangar on Galatea.

There was huge gaping hole where the 340 VOX fusion engine should have been.

As Leutnant Weddle watched, it looked for all the world like Sigil was climbing into the fusion reactor on the floor.

"Hey, Sig, do I even want to know what you're doing?" he called out. "You sure that's safe?"

Clang! Sigil's head jerked up hitting the top of the cowling surrounding the reactor.

"Owww!" He grabbed the side of his head and withdrew, scowling at Weddle.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm replacing the regenerative cooling systems of the VOX with the new Freezers the Colonel bought." Sigil frowned.

"I gotta replace thirteen radiators in there." He gestured to the fusion engine. "And then I gotta put two in the left torso, and one in the right. Colonel's orders."

Weddle chuckled. "You know after you're done with his Battlemaster, you gotta do the same thing to my Griffin."

"Yea, yea, yea. Is that what you came down here for, to ride my ass?"

"Nah, just couldn't sleep with all racket you're making." Weddle grinned.

"How 'bout instead of flappin' your jaw, you give me a hand? You can start by movin' that pallet of Freezers over here and unpackin 'em so I can pull the radiators off."  
He pointed across the 'Mech bay to where a large stack of pallets was stacked.

Weddle hopped in the forklift, fired it up, and started rolling as Sigil went back to pulling out the old radiators in the VOX.

He kept glancing across the 'Mech bay to where the HCT-3F stood powered down in its hangar. The Colonel has authorized its repair while he was recovering from his adventure in the arena. Looking at her still made him shiver. Lizzie Borden. He involuntarily reached over, touching his cybernetic left arm. A type V myomer replacement. Top of the line. Better than the original, really, if you thought about it. Now, He and Hamilton both had cybernetic parts.

Sigil sighed loudly. Next to it was his Clint. It was being held up by a series of rigging and chains. It hurt just to look at her. Her left side was ripped away. Her chest all staved in where the hatchet had destroyed her gyro. Pock marked from head to toe from the cluster munitions, there was barely a ton of armor left on her in total.

He had to get her back somehow. Problem was Clint parts were basically non-existent. Their scarcity was legendary. Everyone knew it. The Colonel's word came floating back to him unbidden from back on Vega, when they'd first salvaged the Clint.

"We both know the Clint wasn't built well from the start and that finding spare parts is almost impossible. I can't have you in the lance riding some welded together tin can we can't field repair."

He was startled by a loud bang as Weddle set down a pallet of the Freezers nearby.

"Man, what is it with you and that Clint? Now you're just standing there and staring at it like you're in a trance or something." Weddle slid off the forklift and stood next to him.

"The Hatchetman's a way better 'Mech. And that dude did some nice mods to it. It's got a good 50% more armor, the autocannon is twice as powerful, and you've got that Hatchet. Frankly, I don't know how you managed beat him. I think it was luck, plain and simple." He chuckled.

Sigil turned to face him. "Nah, you wouldn't understand. Me and her, it's like we're meant for each other. Kinda like love at first sight. She just felt so right. Like we were meant to be together. I dunno, sounds crazy. I can't really explain it."

Weddle winced in pain, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

"Actually, Sigil, I know exactly what you're talking about. I never said anything, but I was real torn up when I lost my T-bolt on Vega. I've been piloting Thunderbolts since I was old enough to walk down to the sims. I tell myself it's because it's such a good design. But the truth is, when I'm strapped into a TDR, it somehow makes me feel complete. Like the 'Mech can anticipate me, like it's a part of me. Like it knows me."

Weddle shrugged. "It's late. There, I dropped off a pallet for you, happy?"

He started to walk off, then paused, turning back. "That Clint runs off a Pitban 240. I'm pretty sure a few others do too."

-

Sigil started unpacking another Freezer. The Colonel had him working eighty hour weeks. He barely had time to eat and sleep. But that was the idea wasn't it? He wouldn't have the time to get into any more trouble. Of course, the Colonel said it was because they'd be deploying to Carbonis next month. Their first mission as the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. A raid on IMB systems.

His mind wandered. Why had Weddle mentioned the Pitban? He thought about for a minute. The Spider, Vulcan, Rifleman, and surprisingly, the Awesome as well. They all used the Pitban 240. Nimakachi Fusion Products on Lapida II still made the SDR-5V.

Then it clicked. Gyros were based directly on the engine rating. In theory, any gyro from a 'Mech that used a Pitban 240 ought to work in his Clint.

His eyes opened wide. Blake's Blood! Maybe he could get her back up and running! He didn't doubt for a second that he was a good enough engineer and tinkerer to make whatever modifications might be necessary to make it work.

He wrinkled his face in dismay. Ya, but a gyro would still cost a cool million C-bills. He'd already tried once to come up with big money fast, and that hadn't exactly worked out as planned.

His eyes were drawn once again to Lizze Borden.

-

Sigil entered the Colonel's office and plopped down on the swivel chair facing his desk. The Colonel had an open door policy.

Colonel Henley looked up from his terminal. "Leutnant Sigil. Is my Battlemaster finished?"

"No, sir. I mean, not yet, sir. I mean it's almost done, sir."

"Then why are you here, Leutnant?" Henley frowned.

"Well, sir, I had an idea..."

The Colonel cut him off immediately.

"Leutnant, your ideas are as dangerous as a Tomodzuru Type 20. If it has anything to do with that Clint, I don't want to hear it."

The Colonel leaned over his desk. "I know you want to pilot the Clint, and we both know what kind of shape it's in. And," his eyes bored into Sigil, "we both know how it got that way."

Colonel Henley leaned back again. "You are the most arrogant, selfish, irresponsible and insubordinate solider in this entire outfit. You're already on disciplinary probation for your latest stunt. You either need to learn how to operate as a member of a team, or you're finished here. Is that understood, Leutnant?"  
Sigil looked wounded. "Yes, sir. Understood, sir."

Colonel Henley sighed loudly. "The unit paid for the type V myomer replacement of your left arm. 400,000 C-bills, Leutnant. Kerensky knows I didn't want to, but I made a promise to your brother. Which, with some frequency, I am beginning to regret. Nonetheless, I'm going to give you a ray of hope, Lt. Sigil. You pilot the Hatchetman you salvaged on our upcoming mission, and if it goes well, I'll authorize the repair of your Clint."

Sigil eyes brightened, as he shot up out of the swivel chair.

"Thank you, sir! I promise…"

The Colonel cut him off, raising his hands. "Get back down to the 'Mech bay and finish my Battlemaster, Lt. Dismissed."

Sigil saluted, snapped a sloppy about face, and left for the 'Mech bay.

-

Having finished installing the new radiators in the regenerative cooling system of the 340 VOX, Sigil was preparing to lift the upgraded reactor and place it back into the chest of the Colonel's 85-ton Battlemaster.

"Hey, Sig, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." It was Hamilton. Sigil usually served as Hamilton's wingman.

"Word on the street is you're going to be piloting the Hatchetman when we drop on Carbonis."

"Ya, it's true. The Colonel gave me my marching orders yesterday." Sigil grinned sheepishly, "You know I was hoping to get my Clint back up and running, but that's not going to happen, not now anyway. The Colonel said if the Carbonis drop went well he'd authorize the repair, though. So that's something. Anyway, how come you didn't put any Freezers on your Shadowhawk?"

Hamilton shrugged. "Why mess with perfection? I tweaked the weapons load out, though. Pulled off the Armstrong J11 autocannon and both Holly missile racks. I replaced them with a Hovertec Short Range Missile Quad, a second Martell medium, and a Sunglow Type 2 large. Had enough left over to put in three more heat sinks and another ton of armor. Oh, and it has a full 150 meter jump capability now too."

He grinned. "Not bad, eh? I can't wait to take it out into the field and give those Marik boys a few nasty surprises."

Sigil nodded distractedly. "Definitely an improvement, for sure. But I was wondering, how come the Colonel bought those Freezers? I mean, when I asked him before, he practically threw me out of his office. When I get back from the hospital, suddenly there is a stack of pallets loaded with 'em. And I'm working eighty hour weeks stuffing them into his Battlemaster and Weddle's Griffin. What gives?"

Hamilton looked surprised. "You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

Hamilton glanced around checking to see that the 'Mech bay was empty, and walked closer. "Well, when you told Dawg what you were up to, he cashed out his share of the unit. Plus, he's independently wealthy to boot. So, he put down a huge pile of C-bills on your arena fight. And, it paid off in spades. You know they were giving four-to-one odds against you. You're one lucky S.O.B."

Hamilton gave him a meaningful look and continued on. "Big money, Sig. Big. Anyway, after the fight, I heard the Colonel talking to Weddle. He was asking if he knew anything about your black market contacts. I reckon he did, 'cause it wasn't long after that the pallets came rolling in."

Sigil's mouth made his trademark "O" shape. "What!? I had no idea! Why doesn't anyone tell me anything around here! I'm always the last to know! Even when I'm involved! How does that work!?"

"All you gotta do is ask the right person, Sig." Hamilton winked at him and headed off to check his Shadowhawk over.

-

Sigil was rebuilding the regenerative cooling system on Weddle's Griffin when he heard a strange clicking noise echoing through the cavernous 'Mech bay.  
He peered over in the direction of the sound.

He blinked, blinked again, and rubbed his eyes. A tall woman clad in a tight, rust colored leather body suit was purposefully striding through the bay. Her honey blonde hair was pulled back into a single long, braided ponytail which swayed mesmerizingly back and forth, reaching a good three-quarters down her back. Behind her was a short, fireplug of a man with an outrageous red beard and a scowl on his face.

Her leather pumps were making a staccato click on the ferrocrete floor of the 'Mech bay as she drew closer. Her skin was dusky, and her brown eyes had a slight almond shape about them. And, he noticed, she carried a stunstick strapped to the outside of her thigh.

"Hey, tech, you can pick your jaw up off the floor now." Her voice carried a slight accent. Kuritan, Capellan maybe?

Sigil continued to stare at her, speechless.

"Why don't you wipe the drool off your face now, and be a good boy and tell me where I can find Colonel Jason Henley."

The red headed dwarf turned to her, saying, "Taint no use, Varruka. I think this one deaf, dumb, and mute. That, or maybe they just doesn't let him out much. I don't know why you bothering coming over here in the first place," he added grumpily.

He strode straight up to Sigil, stopping a scant foot away.

"What's the matter, boy? Ain't never seen a real life woman before?"

Sigil stammered and stuttered, "No, I mean yes. I mean, of course I have!", his cheeks flushed red. Suddenly aware that he was staring at her, he shifted his glance down to the dwarf who was now basically right in his chest.

"Uh. Ya. I mean, uh, you're looking for the Colonel? Ya, I know where he is."

"Great." The dwarf crossed his thick, muscled arms over his chest.

He waited a moment, then bellowed, "THEN TAKE US TO HIM, YOU IDIOT!"

The sudden onslaught of his voice caused Sigil to cringe, as he raised his hands protectively.

The leather clad woman turned to her red headed friend. "Stop in Spanner, can't you see your scaring him." Light, mocking laughter chimed out of her.

First Leutnant Hamilton appeared at the far end of the 'Mech bay. Spotting the two newcomers he quickly strode over, sticking his hand out towards the blonde haired woman.

"I'm First Leutnant Jeff Hamilton, 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. How can I help you?"

The woman took his hand, gripping it briefly. "I'm Captain Varruka Salt. This is my XO and Chief Engineer, Spanner Harrow. We have an appointment with Colonel Jason Henley."

Hamilton nodded, replying, "If you will follow me, I'll escort you to his office."

The staccato clicks resumed, as the three figures turned, heading towards the Colonel's office, leaving Sigil alone once again.

"Tech? She called me a tech," he grumbled as he turned back to work on the Griffin's 275 CoreTek.

-

Colonel Jason Henley rose from behind his military issue desk as the stunning blonde woman and her short, bearded friend entered. He never batted an eye. "Captain Varruka Salt. Please have a seat." He motioned to the swivel chair.

"Leutnant Hamilton, could you bring in another chair?"

Hamilton left, then rolled in another swivel chair moments later, closing the door behind him.

Once they were seated, the Colonel sat down as well.

"Captain, I've reviewed your qualifications as well as your simulator scores from here on Galatea. You've logged an impressive number of flight hours, most of them in a Leopard class. You've conducted combat drops, field landings, and hot zone extractions. Your application materials say references available upon request."  
She looked him straight in the eye. "Respectfully, there are no references I wish to give, Colonel. My ability speaks for itself."

Henley frowned. "I'm not questioning your ability, Captain. I'm questioning your character. You piloted DropShips for Warrior House Matsukai prior to coming here to Galatea. House Matsukai is based out of Bithinia in the Capellan Confederation. You saw minor action in The War of 3039. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Colonel, that is correct."

"Why did you end your service to them?"

Her red bearded friend growled. "You don't have to answer that, Varruka. Come on! With your talents we can get a gig almost anywhere." He glared at the Colonel. "And from some blokes who're a lot less nosy." He kicked his chair backwards, getting ready to stand up.

She held up her hand. "No, Spanner. It's a fair enough question, and I'll answer it, under two conditions. First, I want to see the DropShip. Second, you will keep what I tell you strictly confidential, whether we come to an agreement or not."

"Agreed. Before we go to the SpacePort, I want to know why you're interested in joining the 69th?"

She considered for a moment. "I came to Galatea because I wanted to make a clean break from my past. But more than that, I wanted to get in on the ground floor of something good. I've got a full crew of nine, including my XO, Chief Engineer Spanner here."

She motioned to her friend, and continued. "A Captain is responsible for the well-being of all the people under her, and I want to give them, and myself, a home."

Her brown eyes flashed as she looked intently at the Colonel. "I was there at the arena fight. That's how I first heard of your unit. Let me tell you what I saw, that I suspect most people didn't notice. Your men leapt off the balcony of that skybox the second they saw their comrade in trouble. They risked their lives to save his life. That speaks of a fierce loyalty I find alluring, a loyalty I would like the chance to share in, and add to."

Henley's face was set in stone. "Then why are you lying to me? I checked. ComStar has no records of a Varruka Salt in the Capellan Confederation. You must have known I would find that out."

She winced. "I changed my identity to protect myself and my crew. I'm a good pilot, Colonel. I can do the job. I just need the chance." A flicker of desperation showed in her striking face.

The Colonel leaned back in his chair considering. He was pretty sure he could trust the simulator scores, and they were almost off the chart. It's what first caught his eye when he was reviewing her application. He needed a solid DropShip pilot with combat experience. The Carbonis raid would require either a combat drop or a field landing in hostile territory. Possibly even an extraction under fire depending on how things went. Did she really have any combat experience, or was that a subterfuge as well?

He sat back up, his arms steepled in front of him. "Why do you want to see the DropShip, Captain?"

"You can tell most everything you need to know about a unit by how well they maintain their equipment, Colonel."

She would be a gamble. Then again, everything he was doing was a gamble.

He stood up, extending his hand. "Meet me at the StarPort, hangar 54, 16:00 tomorrow, Captain, and I'll show you Shadowfax.

-

Sigil resigned himself to piloting the 45-ton HCT-3F Hatchetman. Reluctantly, he climbed up the collapsible metal ladder and into the cockpit. Might as well face the demons.

He'd killed the 'Mechs previous owner, Scotty McDaniel. His recollection of it was vague, but he'd seen the holovids of himself. All of Galatea had by now. Killed him in the very command couch he was now sitting in with three armor-piercing handloads at close range from Dawg's Sternsacht heavy pistol.

Dawg have given him the Sternsacht to keep after that. Said he'd now earned the right to carry a man's gun. He been strapping the 1.5 kilogram handgun to the outside of his thigh ever since. It was a well-crafted weapon, lovingly kept. The pistol grip was worn checkered walnut, the body made from carbon steel and plated with nickel. It only held three rounds, but Dawg said if you missed with the first one, chances are it wouldn't matter anyway.

Dawg had also taken the time to show him how to field strip and clean the Sternsacht. Given him a kit with lubricants, solvents, brushes, cleaning patches, and everything. Sigil got the feeling that the Sternsacht meant something to Dawg, but he didn't ask. Figured he'd say if he felt like it.

The weight of it on his thigh served as a physical reminder of the fickle nature of combat. Weddle had said it true. He got lucky. Scotty should have been sitting here right now, and he should be the one who was dead.

Killing people on the battlefield when they're strapped into a 'Mech was a different thing entirely, Sigil reflected. He never thought of it as killing a person, instead it was just destroying a machine of war. The pilot didn't always die. True, thinking back to Vega though, he knew for certain that he had at least killed that Second Legion Stalker pilot. Ammunition explosions had a way of doing that. That was one the reasons he had stripped out the original Conan/S LRM-5 from the 75-ton Grasshopper he was piloting at the time.

Of course, now he was practically sitting on top of two tons worth of high explosive autocannon shells, which were, in turn, sitting on top of a nuclear fusion reactor. Great, just great.

He powered up the Hatchetman to run a full set of system diagnostics. He could barely feel the GM 180 come to life, just a quiet little hum. Top speed a paltry 65 klicks.  
It weighed 25 tons less than his old Grasshopper, yet had the same top speed. Well, at least it had Luxor 2/Q jump jets. Why would anyone pilot a 'Mech that didn't have jump jets, anyway?

Lizzie Borden back from the dead. Messages began scrolling down the primary display.

System Clock: OK  
CPU Initialized Successfully  
Accessing ROM BIOS: OK  
Beginning POST…  
BIOS: OK  
CMOS RAM: OK  
CPU: OK  
System RAM: OK  
Loading Diagnostic Interpretation System…  
Actuators: 100%  
Myomer: 100%  
Gyroscope: 100%  
Fusion Engine: 100%  
Verifying Cooling Systems…  
Cooling System: 100%  
Jump Jets: 100%  
Sensors: 100%  
Initializing Targeting and Tracking System…  
Targeting and Tracking System: Online  
Initializing Life Support System…  
Life Support System: Online  
Ejection System: Disabled  
Waste System: 100%  
Initializing Communications System…  
Communications System: Online  
Initializing Damage Assessment System…  
Damage Assessment System: Online  
Initializing Neural Interface System…  
Neural Interface System: Online

So far, so good. Of course, he'd still need to get a release from the Colonel to verify the weapons system. Probably not a good idea to test them out here in the hangar. Strike that, definitely not a good idea to test them here. He left the weapon systems powered down.

The H.U.D. came up, followed by various secondary displays. The Hatchetman was first commissioned in 3023. Designed by Team Banzai out of the famed New Avalon Institute of Science, and manufactured by Defiance Industries of Hesperus II, it was the first new 'Mech design in over a hundred years. Hailed as revolutionary, it was first 'Mech to carry a Hatchet and feature a full-head ejection system. In truth, it was a popular and well respected 'Mech. He had to admit that much. It had seen combat during the lead-up to The War of 3039, as well as during the conflict itself. Most MechWarriors would jump at the chance to pilot one.

Unfortunately, he wasn't one of them.

The TharHes Ares-8a Targeting and Tracking System was one reason. It just couldn't hold a candle to the Tek TruTrak he had retrofitted into his old 'Hopper, and compared to the Sloane he had in the Clint, it felt like it was just one step above a simple line-of-sight system.

Ok, it wasn't that bad. In fact, it was generally considered a fairly good T&T system, but once you used Star League electronics, there just wasn't any going back.

He sighed. Indeed, the Succession Wars had taken a heavy toll on the ability of the Inner Sphere to produce advanced technology. Only now were there faint glimmers that some of what had been lost over the last 260 years could be regained.

He shut Lizzie back down. The next step would require field testing.

-

Chapter 4

Galatea  
Lyran Commonwealth  
3041

The Colonel had booked a couple of hours of time at one of the live-fire training grounds on the far flung outskirts of Galatea City. He said he wanted to check out his Battlemaster's rebuilt engine and verify the additional cooling capacity was working properly.

Whatever, he'd been over that engine a dozen times, and had no doubt it was working properly.

Still, Sigil was nervous. He really wants to see how my gunnery is coming along. He winced. With this Ares-8a system it was likely going to look pretty poor.

They were heading out of the city. He was out front in Lizzie, the Colonel's Battlemaster a good 300 meters behind him. At least it had a full 360 degree scanning arc. He flipped through the various scanning modes.

Galatea was a city built for 'Mechs, broad, wide avenues and ferrocrete throughways. You could actually walk around in a 'Mech without damaging the roads or worrying about a lot of pedestrian traffic. Well, maybe not in downtown.

Infrared mode came up, overlaying a color-coded heat scale atop the visual display. He frowned. What, no Target Identifier? Wonderful, visual ID only. No Damage Indicator either. Holds one primary, four secondary targets.

He flipped over to Electromagnetic sensors. Estimated target weights at least. The Enforcer and Centurion cruising ahead of him showed as 40-tons. Well, at least it was close. He'd have to give it +/- a good 25%. Ok, not that good. That would make an Atlas read like an Archer. He didn't recognize the color scheme of the two 'Mechs, but there were units from all over the Inner Sphere here on the Mercenary Star.

He briefly flipped over to Motion sensors, but surrounded by movement almost everywhere, the H.U.D. just got way too cluttered, running long, motion blurred tails behind everything. Kinda psychedelic the way they would cross and blend together.

Back to visual. They were beginning to pass into the surrounding country side now so Sigil throttled Lizze up to her full 65 kph, leaving the Colonel's Battlemaster further behind. He spied a Crusader a good thousand meters away, heading towards another of the training fields. What's the lock-on range of this thing, I wonder?

He was moving at an angle to the Crusader so he was slowly closing on it. Figured he'd pass, at the closest, 500, maybe 600 meters away.

900 meters. 850 meters. 800 meters. Still nothing.

750 meters. Bingo. The Crusader pulsed red briefly, then was outlined in solid red. Target lock at 750 meters. Let's see, the LB-X autocannon was good out to about 540 meters. Ya, 750 meters works.

He swiveled Lizzie's torso back around, facing straight ahead as he passed the Crusader.

He noticed a trio of 'Mechs ahead heading towards him, presumably on their way back to Galatea proper.

The Hunchback was an easy visual ID, the massive Tomodzuru autocannon atop its right shoulder was a dead giveaway. He chuckled. Dead giveaway was right, that cannon was a legendary killer.

Commando. Another easy one. The distinctive helmeted head. Besides, he'd seen a thousand Commandos by now. One of the most popular 'Mechs in Lyran space. There were multiples in every LCAF unit he had served in. And, he'd worked on a fair number of them too boot. One of favorite training 'Mechs used at Sanglamore to teach gunnery and piloting, inevitably, those on the tech track, like he'd been, cut their teeth repairing all the damage caused by aspiring MechWarriors to those training Commandos.

The last one was a bit trickier. Wasp, maybe. It had the array of four antennas in the head. Nah, it was too big to be a 20-ton Wasp. The Valkyrie and the Phoenix Hawk has similar antenna configurations. But, this unit lacked the obvious jump jets of a Phoenix Hawk, then again, he'd run into that Kurita variant on Vega that didn't have any.

As they drew near, he spotted the tell-tale missile tubes on the left torso. Valkyrie then.

All three sported the same gray and white mottled camouflage scheme.

He was startled as his TharHes Thalia HM-22 communications system suddenly crackled to life. Open frequency.

A gruff male voice came out of the speakers. "You the lucky punk who killed McDaniels?"

He blinked rapidly. "Uh…, yeah. I'm Leutnant Sigil, 69th Virginia Expeditionary."

The three 'Mechs closed around him in an arc.

"I got a message for ya from Scotty!"

Suddenly, the Tomodzuru spat fire with a thunderous roar, as the Valkyrie added its Sutel IX medium and the Commando unleashed a full barrage of ten short range missiles, also firing its B3M medium for good measure.

Lizzie's axe wielding right arm was simply disintegrated by the devastating Type 20 Autocannon, sending the Hatchet spinning off behind him. Multiple missile explosions rocked his 'Mech from top to bottom as the medium lasers drilled holes in his left torso and right leg. Three and half tons of armor gone in a single bone jarring flash.

His instincts were good. He slammed the Luxor 2/Q jump jets down, leaping straight ahead and over the heads of the three attacking 'Mechs.

He hit the ground running at top speed, circling away and to the left as he fired a wild instinctive shot with the LB-X. It flew wide, somehow managing to miss all three 'Mechs even though they were grouped together.

He gritted his teeth, as they turned around, tracking him. Damn it, Lizzie, move your fat ass! She was too slow, he couldn't get out of the range of the deadly autocannon!

The Hunchback's Tomodzuru roared again. Lizzie spun crazily to right, corkscrewing to the ground, as the Tomodzuru ripped away her remaining arm, breeching the left torso where the LB-X was mounted.

Medium lasers from the Valkyrie and Commando burned into her left leg and chest as the next volley of SRMs descended. He was down! The missiles relentlessly pounded her chest, critically damaging the LB-X autocannon. All he had left was a pair of B3M lasers.

Struggling to her knees, the armless Lizzie Borden let fly with her remaining weaponry. Dammit, he was going to take someone with him! He dropped the reticle over the Commando. Armor melted from its right side, but two mediums just weren't enough to breech the armor of the light 25-ton 'Mech.

Perfect. He was going to die on his knees.

-

Colonel Henley's 85-ton assault 'Mech was keeping pace with Sigil's Hatchetman as they left Galatea City proper. The command console, elevated above and behind him, was empty. He still needed to find just the right person to put there. The command console had a full set of 'Mech controls identical in very way to the ones he was operating right now.

Most commonly used to train MechWarriors for obvious reasons, it could also serve a critical, and often undervalued, combat function. It would allow him, or someone else, to focus their full attention on the immediate tactical situation in real-time, coordinating command, control, and communications for the entire unit, giving him another edge on the battlefield.

But for now, he was just enjoying piloting the intimidating assault 'Mech. It was bristling with a punishing array of weaponry. He held the familiar Donal particle cannon in his left arm. It was actually the same model used on the Warhammer, except he could dis-engage his, freeing his hand if necessary. The 'Hammer had no hand actuators.

Sigil had flipped the two rear-mounted Martell mediums to the front, giving him a total of six medium lasers, and a Holly six-rack of short range missiles was perched on the left shoulder. At 90 meters, a single volley would cripple most any 'Mech in existence, except, perhaps, another assault.  
Not only that, with 16 of the new double efficiency heat sinks installed, he could unleash alpha-strike after alpha-strike without serious heat buildup. It was a monster.

He watched Sigil begin to slowly pull ahead as they entered the countryside where the live-fire fields were located. He chose to maintain a comfortable pace, hovering around 40 kph.

Sigil. He shook his head. I can't figure out whether that boy is a genius, or just too damn lucky for his own good. During the initial battle for the supply depot back on Vega, he'd jumped clear into the middle of a lake, effectively stranding himself there, since his 'Hopper jump jets were mounted in the legs. To make it even worse, he'd landed with his rear facing more than lance of Second Legion 'Mechs.

But, he'd drawn the fire of every enemy 'Mech in the area, ultimately saving Hamilton's damaged Warhammer from being destroyed. It had actually turned the tide of the entire engagement. With the Kuritans focused on the crazed 'Hopper sitting like a duck in the middle of the pond, the rest of his lance had decimated them. And, somehow, the 'Hopper came through it all.

He sighed. Then, during the second battle of the depot, Sigil had taken down not one, but two, assault 'Mechs, before his Grasshopper was utterly annihilated. Another of example of Sigil taking the heat for Hamilton, allowing Hamilton's Warhammer to inflict maximum damage for as long as possible. In fact, the 'Hammer was the last 'Mech to go down during that desperate battle. And, he took the Cho-sa of the Second Legion down with him.

The Colonel didn't even want to think about the arena fight. For a while, the holovids were all over the place, and everyone was talking about it. He must have seen the battle twenty times by now, from every angle, slow-motion, image enhancement, everything. Not to mention, Sigil had left his cockpit vidcam on the entire time. He shook his head.

Luck? Maybe. Hard for anyone to catch that many lucky breaks. You just don't get lucky three times in row. Maybe he has what it takes to be a MechWarrior after all.

The Colonel had gotten him reassigned to the 3rd Lyran Guard, taking him off the tech side, promoting him from Corporal to Leutnant, and giving him MechWarrior status. Mostly he did it to uphold a promise to Sigil's brother, dead now for what, two, three years?

He gathered his thoughts back in as he noticed a group of three 'Mechs, sporting the same camouflage paint scheme as Sigil's salvaged Hatchetman, approaching. A Hunchback, Valkyrie, and a Commando.

The Hartford COM 4000 came to life. An unknown voice growled, "You the lucky punk who killed McDaniels?"

Sigil responded, then all hell broke loose about 200 meters ahead of him.

The Hunchback's Tomodzuru Type 20 blasted Sigil's Hatchetman's right arm instantly into scrap. The Hatchet flew back, then skidded towards him on the ferrocrete walkway, the hand still wrapped around the handle. The other two light 'Mechs poured laser fire and flight after flight of short range missiles into the now one armed 'Mech.

Sigil hit his jump jets, blasting into the air on twin streams off flames, up and over the heads of the three attacking 'Mechs, landing behind them.

The three 'Mechs turned 180 degrees and continued to mercilessly unload on the Hatchetman. It's remaining arm was destroyed, spinning Sigil's 'Mech around, as he fired a desperate shot with his autocannon wide. Then he went sprawling to the ground.

The Colonel accelerated the Battlemaster to its top speed, scooping up the Hatchet as he closed. All three attacking 'Mechs had exposed their thin rear armor to his war machine. They must not have recognized he was with the Hatchetman, his 'Mech still only had the grey primer coat of paint on it and no unit insignia.

He targeted all three simultaneously. A trio of Martells reached out towards the backs of the Commando and the Valkyrie, as he sent the Donal and the six-rack at the exposed rear of Hunchback.

The Martells cored straight through the left torso of the Commando, severing the corresponding arm, and knocking out both its medium laser and the ammunition for its six-rack, eliminating two-thirds of its weaponry in a single strike.

The damage from the other three Martells was instantly obvious. Two of them penetrated the thin armor of the right rear torso, setting off the LRM ammunition stored there. The Valkyrie was engulfed in a huge explosion, shooting a fireball high into the sky as 'Mech scrap fell like rain around the smoking crater where the 'Mech had been standing only seconds before.

The Donal arced straight into the rear right torso of the Hunchback, trashing the monstrous Tomodzuru autocannon, the bulky weapon nearly filling the entire torso of the 50-ton 'Mech. Four of his short ranged missiles exploded across its back as well, but failed to do any more critical damage.

Then he brought the Hatchet he'd recovered from Sigil's 'Mech down like a sledgehammer, the incredible force generated by the 85-ton 'Mech swinging it, bending the handle of it backwards as it slammed home.

The three-ton Hatchet cleaved deep into the Hunchback's left torso with such spectacular force, it cut all the way through the entire torso and into the engine cavity, the entire left side of the 'Mech peeled away like a tin can, and sloughed, smoking to the ground.

There was deep, ominous rumbling sound. Then, the Hunchback went up like a roman candle, the autocannon rounds exploding one after another like a thunderously magnificent fireworks show.

He opened his COM 4000. "Unidentified Commando. Power down immediately or be destroyed."

The Commando shut down instantly, the pilot rocking out on his ejection seat.

He switched to the unit's private frequency. "Leutnant Sigil, the PPC generates an unusual amount of heat, you need to check it over again. And your gunnery is still as poor as ever."

-

Chapter 5

Galatea  
Lyran Commonwealth  
3041

"Hey, Weddle, whatcha doin?"

Sigil strolled into the VXF lounge, plopping down on one of the couches. An old holovid movie about the 4th Succession War was on, little Crucis Lancers 'Mechs were blowing up little Tau Ceti Rangers 'Mechs on Tikonov.

Weddle chuckled. "Just brushing up on my military science, historical and tactical. Too bad The War of 3039 wasn't like the 4th Succession War. Man, the Capellan's got crushed. We barely managed to shift the border in '39. Anyway, what's up?"

"I gotta go into the city. I think I found a place that might have some electronics I need for Lizzie. Wanna go with me?"

"Sure, just give me a few minutes to pull some stuff together and get ready." Weddle laughed. "Going anywhere with you promises to be an adventure. Anything could happen, I better be prepared"

He got up, heading off to his quarters. "See you back here in 15."

-

Sigil and Weddle were speeding into downtown Galatea City. The Hiring Hall, although not the largest building, was certainly the most impressive, and it dominated the view. Filled with simulators, meeting rooms, conference facilities, even restaurants and bars, the Hiring Hall was the center of activity on the Mercenary Star. It's where most of the wheeling and dealing went down. The Mercenary Review Board, overseen by ComStar, was headquartered there.

Hovercars, like their own, zipped everywhere, most of them hooked into the traffic management grid, running on auto-guidance.

There were a lot of helicopters too. Heliports, sometime more than one, were located on the rooftops of all the major buildings, and a few of the taller ones even had pads extending out of the sides of some of the lower floors as well. They should have gotten Kitten to give them a lift in her VTOL, then they could have arrived in style. Then again, their destination was on ground level, so it wouldn't have worked anyway.

The other easily identifiable building was ComStar's Class A HyperPulse Generator. It was instantly recognizable by its huge parabolic antenna dish and surrounding fortifications. Supposedly, it was guarded by a unit of the Com Guards, stationed there in Star League 'Mechs.

He'd already seen Star League 'Mechs before, though. During the Vega campaign, he'd seen the Rhonda's Irregulars 'Mechs. They were all Star League. He'd even seen Rhonda Snord's 90-ton Highlander. Now that was an awe-inspiring machine. And it was jump capable.

"What are you trying to find anyway, Sig?" Weddle asked.

"That piece of crap Ares-8a doesn't have target identification, or damage analysis. Seriously, I don't even know why they bothered to make it."

Weddle grinned, saying, "Best targeting and tracking system I ever used was the Optical Mark I. Even my old T-bolt's RCA Instatrac Mark X didn't have target and damage ID. I'm not sure I've ever piloted a 'Mech with those kinds of capabilities in combat. My Griffin certainly doesn't have it."

"The Optical Mark I? Never heard of it, who makes it? What's it in?" Sigil look excited.

Weddle cracked up. "Kerensky! Sometimes you're really clueless, Sig." He continued laughing as he pointed to his eyes. "Optical Mark I's!"

Sigil rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious, Sig. I can make a visual ID of any 'Mech in the Inner Sphere. I know their silhouettes like the back of my hand. Better than even money, I can make an ID off a thermal scan. Now magscan IDs, that's a different story. Way hard, but I knew a guy back on Sanglamore who can identify a 'Mech from a magscan about 75% of the time. He never would tell me his secret, though." Weddle shrugged.

He continued on. "Besides, like you need a computer to tell you when you've blown off someone's arm. Most damage is obvious. Swear to Kerensky, I can tell when I crit from the color and type of the sparks it throws off."

Sigil rolled his eyes again.

Weddle snickered. "I like to keep my Optical Mark I's on the target, not on the info displays."

The hovercar slowed, stopped, then shifted laterally into a parking space.

Sigil opened the gull-wing door, getting out. Weddle followed.

A large chrome sign proclaimed "Dietrich Vinh - Custom System Integration and Advanced Electronics".

Sigil pushed open the heavy glassteel plate double doors. Clean, cool, filtered air washed over him.

The interior was immaculate. Rich hardwood counters and glass display cases filled with antiquities lined three walls, all finished with real brass hardware. There was a door behind the counter in the far wall leading further back, probably into the work areas. Two small exotic wood tables surrounded with fully upholstered, natural leather chairs filled out the room.

A mild tone called out as Weddle and Sigil entered. Moments later, a balding, heavy set man emerged from the door behind the counter. He had monocle hanging from a golden chain around his neck and wore a tweed suit, with a vest underneath.

"Greetings, gentleman." He had a thick Lyran accent. "I'm Dietrich Vinh. How may I help you today?"

Sigil strode up to the counter, as Weddle took a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs.

"I'm running a TharHes Ares-8a. I need a Target Identification, Damage ID, and an Indirect Fire Support expansion module for it."

Vinh responded without hesitation. "The Ares-8a only has five available expansion slots. You cannot fit all of those modules into it. Target Identification fills three slots just by itself. In order to reach that level of capability, you would need to upgrade the entire targeting and tracking system to at least an Ares-80."

"What about a TharHes Star Shark? I've got one in a Commando right now I could pull out."

In the aftermath of the incident at the live-fire range, the Colonel had claimed the Commando as salvage, nominally as compensation for the damage done to Lizze Borden. Maybe it'd turn out to useful for something after all.

Vinh nodded. "The Star Shark has target identification built in. It is, in fact, the top of the line targeting and tracking system produced by TharHes Industries of Tharkad. However, it does not offer damage analysis, nor indirect fire support, although it has the capacity to accept those enhancements."

"Perfect. I haven't used the Star Shark before. How else does it differ from the Ares-8a?"

Vinh paused a moment, then looked down at the hardwood counter as he placed the monocle over his left eye.

"Assuming both systems are fully operational, the Star Shark accepts two additional primary targets and one additional secondary target as compared to the 8a. It has built-in target identification as we discussed before. Its lock-on range is approximately 120 meters greater than the Ares-8a, and it is mildly less sensitive to heat extremes."

He looked back up at Sigil, the monocle dropping back down to hang at his chest. "However, it does not have a reset switch, and it is significantly more difficult to modify and repair due to its complexity. I will also point out that it lacks both the built-in aerospace targeting and anti-missile support your current Ares-8a has. Although, once again, I believe it has the capacity to accept those expansions."

Sigil rubbed his chin. "Ok, so how about this then? I'll swap out the Ares-8a for the Star Shark. And I'll add target damage analysis, indirect fire support, a reset switch, and volley fire."

Vinh nodded. "That is technically possible. However, you may find it prohibitively expensive. I estimate a project of that magnitude would cost in the neighborhood of 600,000 C-bills, and likely take a month to complete."

Sigil whistled. "Sorry, Deitrich, I don't have that kind of time or money. I'll do the work myself, how much for just the parts?"

Vinh frowned, held the monocle up to his left eye again, and slowly looked Sigil up and down, before tucking it into his breast pocket.

"Would you allow me to examine your Sternsacht?"

Sigil frowned. "Huh? Oh, my pistol. Sure, I guess."

He un-holstered the heavy pistol from his thigh, laying it on the counter, with a loud thunk.

Weddle, noticing Sigil pulling out the Sternsacht, tensed. What the hell is Sig doing? Is he handing that guy a loaded gun? Blake's Blood! What!? Is he completely devoid of common sense!? No wonder shit hits the fan when he's was around. Weddle kept wary eye on the store owner.

Vinh picked up the heavy firearm, ejecting the magazine with a practiced click, catching it in his other hand. He pulled the receiver back next, ejecting the shell in the chamber. He placed the magazine and the round on the counter as he slowly turned the Sternsacht around in his hand.

"This is a beautiful weapon. An antique. I'd estimate it at 350 years old. He examined the grip, as he slid his monocle over his left eye, looking at the bottom of the grip closely.

"As I suspected. This weapon was originally a Star League officer's sidearm, most likely belonged to at least a SLDF Captain. A rare find, indeed, especially in such excellent condition. Exquisite." He placed the pistol back on the counter, looking back up at Sigil.

"The parts alone will cost your over 200,000 C-bills. In addition, the work is not like simply changing out a Martell medium laser. It is very exacting, requiring an intimate knowledge of targeting systems, programming, and electronic engineering. And a keen eye for detail, a single syntax error can render the entire system unusable. These skills are very hard to find today."

Sigil waved his hand away. "Yea, yea. I pulled out the Allet-C3087 and T11 and from my old Grasshopper a couple years back, and replaced them with a Tek Battlecom and TruTrak. You just sell me the parts, I'll take care of the data translation, field mapping, programming and recalibration myself."

Dietrich Vinh took another long, appraising look at Sigil. "If I may inquire, where did you come by these skills?"

"Oh, I was on the Tech track at Sanglamore back on Skye. I served a few years doing tech for the Skye Rangers before transferring to the Third Lyran Guard for a combat assignment. My old Sergeant Major told me I was gifted. He said I could make Electronics Engineer if I wanted." Sigil shrugged. "I didn't want it. I wanted to take it to the Snakes instead." He grinned.

Vinh nodded. "You saw action in The War of 3039, did you? I was in Operation Götterdämmerung myself back in '28 and '29. I was with the 8th Donegal Guards on Moritz. We rolled up the 5th Sun Zhang Academy Cadre like an old carpet."

Vinh smiled and continued on. "The good 'ole days. Things have changed considerably since then. The Free Rasalhague Republic, the St. Ives Compact, the Com Guards, even the Federated Commonwealth itself didn't even exist when I was serving in the LCAF."

"Change means one thing for sure, plenty of work for us mercenaries." Sigil grinned.

Dietrich Vinh frowned. "I will sell you parts only for 235,000 C-Bills. But I will not give you any performance guarantees. I only guarantee the work I do personally. If that's agreeable, transfer the sum to this account and provide me an address to deliver the parts. I will deliver them myself. I'd like to watch some of your work. I am always looking for men and women of talent, and they are scarce, indeed."

Sigil retrieved his Sternsacht from the counter. He reloaded the heavy pistol, and slid it back into his thigh holster.

"Thanks, Deitrich. I'll transfer the funds by tomorrow evening. I'd like them delivered as soon as possible. My unit is deploying within the month."

He took the contact memcard from Vinh and turned around to leave.

Weddle got up from the overstuffed leather chair. "About time, Sig. If you're done geeking out, let's get something to drink. I know the perfect place."

-

Colonel Henley was at his desk reviewing the growing roster, and expenses, of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. Over sixty people in his command now. The bulk of them were the two squads of infantry, Dawg's and Captain McMillan's.

Dawg had come to him maybe ten days ago with an interesting offer. A recently retired LIC field officer had approached him. Said he'd put together a squad, and was looking for the right opportunity.

Henley still wasn't sure exactly what Dawg had told him, but the long and short of it, was that McMillan's squad has signed on with the 69th.

Which was fine with him. McMillian had expertise in demolitions, security systems, and interrogation. With a skill set like that, definitely Black Ops. The truth of it was, he didn't really want to look that close. Might find something he'd rather not know. Besides, Dawg was his XO, he ran that side of the house. You don't second guess your own people.

The 25-ton Nightshade VTOL McMillan brought with him didn't hurt either. After Dozer was killed on Vega, he'd been trying to figure out how best to replace him. The crusty old tanker had saved them all when he knee-capped that Hunchback. And he had paid the ultimate price for it.

So, that brought the 69th to two squads of infantry, A Ripper and Nightshade VTOL, his Battlemaster, a Griffin, Shadowhawk and a Hatchetman. Plus the Leopard DropShip. A small, but formidable force. The perfect raiding group. And, raids always offered the highest pay. And the highest risk.

To the extent possible, he wanted to minimize the chance of any unwelcome surprises. Unfortunately, about the only thing he had any control over was his unit readiness and equipment. To that end, he'd booked hours at one of the live-fire fields on the outskirts of Galatea, and had developed a rotation. Dawg, McMillian, Kitten, Hamilton, Weddle, Sigil. They'd all have live-fire time.

He'd also directed Captain Salt to take Shadowfax on a shakedown cruise. And, most importantly, verify all of the weapon systems and 'Mech bay doors were operating properly. He was already mulling over the plan of attack for the Carbonis raid. That was why he'd also asked her to conduct a few strike and strafing runs.

The Leopard carried two PPCs, an LRM-20, and three medium lasers on its nose. Another LRM-20, two large lasers, and two medium lasers were located on each wing. The aft sported a single heavy laser, and a pair of mediums. It wasn't an assault DropShip by any stretch of the imagination, but it carried way to much firepower to ignore.

And, if things went south, it was also their only way out.

The Colonel silently worried alone in his office. Just two weeks now until they'd link up with the AFFS JumpShip taking them to Carbonis.

-

The Colonel had asked Weddle to take Sigil out to the training grounds for a simulated assault scenario. Their lasers were on low power, and the ballistic and missile rounds carried garish red paint warheads. Weddle was stationed by a little mock-up building which was supposedly the warehouse. Sigil was out there somewhere in Lizzie.

Sig had done him a good turn on his Griffin's retrofit. Originally armed with a Fusigon particle cannon, and Delta Dart ten-rack, he'd asked Sig to reconfigure the weapons load to resemble a 65-ton Thunderbolt. It was the loadout he was most familiar with, and its damage over range curve was optimal, and best of all, it just got worse as you got closer.

His Griffin, dubbed "Lil' Bolt", carried a Sunglow Type 2 heavy laser, a drum mounted Delta Dart 15-rack, a pair of Diverse Optics Type 18 mediums, and ten of the new Freezers. For once, Weddle was thankful Sig was such a stickler for detail. He'd bought the weapons from the exact same manufacturers that provided the weapons for the Thunderbolt. If it wasn't for the Rawlings 55 jump jets, he could almost imagine he was sitting in a T-bolt. Actually, he'd heard the Eridani Light House made a jump capable Thunderbolt variant, the 5SE. He'd have to check that out someday.

Bingo. The Octagon Tartrac had found him. Weddle throttled up Lil' Bolt, swinging him around to the eastern side of the warehouse as he loaded the Delta Dart. He had 90 meters on Sig's autocannon, and Sig would pay for every meter with LRM hits.

He sped up, on an intercept with the Hatchetman, opening a bit of space up between him and the warehouse he was defending.  
At 630 meters he let fly with the first salvo of LRMs. Blobs of red paint splattered across Lizzie's right torso and left leg. Weddle chuckled in his cockpit as he opened his com.

"Oh sorry, did I hit you?"

He wheeled Lil' Bolt backwards, maintaining long range. He could walk backwards just about as fast as the Hatchetman could run forward.

He let fly a second salvo from the Delta dart at 570 meters. More paint blossomed across both of Lizzie's legs, as well as her left torso.

"What's the matter, Sig, can't find the trigger?" Weddle taunted.

As if in response, Sigil triggered his LB-10-X autocannon, sending paint dripping down the Griffin's right leg.

"Looks like I found it, Weddle. Why don't you save us both the trouble and surrender now?"

"As if you stand a chance, Sig. This isn't the arena, and your lucks been all used up."

A third flight of long range missiles arced down on the Hatchetman, clustered on the right torso. I'm one nasty shot, Weddle grinned. Time to have some fun.

He switched directions suddenly, bringing the Griffin charging towards Sigil, stabbing down the trigger for the Sunglow heavy as he passed within 400 meters, scoring a hit on the Hatchetman's right arm.

Sigil responded with another blast from his autocannon. Damn, that bastard is lucky! His right leg showed as breached, as the computer shut down his lower leg actuator to simulate critical damage, causing him to stumble.

"I'm gonna blow it clean off next round, Weddle. Last chance to surrender and save face." Sigil retorted.

Weddle recovered his footing. Thank Kerensky the Hatchetman was slow, he didn't want to be forced to get physical. That was the one arena in which Lizzie held the clear advantage.

220 meters. Alpha-strike time. Blake's Blood those Freezers made all the difference. Lil' Bolt sure ran cool.

The LRMs grouped on Lizzie's right leg, as the Sunglow scored a hit on her chest. One of the Diverse Optics flew wide, but the other scored another hit on the right leg.

Sigil's 'Mech lurched forward awkwardly as the training computer shut down both the hip and upper leg actuator. Lizzie could barely move, but she responded with another blast from her autocannon, drilling the Griffin in the chest, as her matched Defiance B3M mediums scored a second hit to his chest, and one to his left arm.  
Weddle hit the Rawlings, leaping back a full 150 meters.

"Looks like you're a sitting duck now, Sig. You gonna try and waddle over here?" Weddle laughed as he fired both the Sunglow and the Delta Dart. The Sunglow landed short, but the LRMs destroyed the last of the Lizzie's right leg, effectively ending the fight.

Lizzie's stiffened movement caused Sigil's last autocannon round to furrow into the ground harmlessly.

"Face it, Sig. It wasn't even close. Looks like you're buying, again."

-

The Colonel looked across his utilitarian desk at Leutnant Weddle. "Give me your frank and honest assessment, Lt."

"I've been out to the live-fire fields now three times with Sigil, as you asked me to do, Colonel. I mopped the floor with him every time. He drives that Hatchetman like it was his old Grasshopper. Problem is, it doesn't have anywhere near the armor of the 'Hopper, so every time he moves in to get close, he gets shot to pieces."

Weddle shook his head, and continued. "The Hatchetman just isn't a good fit for him. It's a street fighter, a brawler. Perfect for close quarters or urban combat, but out in the open it needs someone who understands it limitations and has the patience to work their way in without charging. Otherwise, it's just scrap, even with the extended range of that Class 10 autocannon."

Weddle spread his fingers out. "Don't get me wrong, Colonel, Lizzie's a good 'Mech. There isn't anything wrong with the design, you just need to understand how to use it. Doesn't look like Sigil gets it to me."

Weddle shrugged.

The Colonel leaned forward onto his desk, fixing Weddle with a hard, emotionless stare. "What's your recommendation?"

Weddle paused, pulling together his thoughts, as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Everything said in my office, Leutnant, will be kept strictly confidential, and I take that very seriously. If I can't trust you, and the others in my unit, to tell me the unvarnished truth, then I am not only putting all of our lives at risk unnecessarily, I've also failed as a commander."

Colonel Henley leaned back in his swivel chair, giving Weddle the time to formulate his thoughts and chose his words.

"Colonel, if there was ever a pilot made for a CGR-1A1, its Sigil. But I think it would be mistake to put him in that Hatchetman. During the first assault on the supply depot on Vega, he barely managed to hit anything. All he succeeded in doing was drawing fire off Hamilton's Warhammer. And the only reason he survived that was the thirteen tons of armor on the 'Hopper. And, he was even luckier that the 'Hopper had such heavy rear armor."

"And when the Second Legion launched their assault on the depot, what'd he do then? He charged an entire assault lance. He did the same thing in the arena fight, and he did the same thing on the live-fire fields. Charged. What's he going do in Lizzie? Charge. I guarantee it."

Weddle glanced around nervously. "I'll tell you one more thing, Colonel. Look, I'm not a superstitious person. Well, no more so than any MechWarrior. But, I caught Sigil one night sitting in the cockpit of that Hatchetman. I could tell he was reliving that arena fight. Had that haunted look people get who've faced death one to many times. Then, his first time piloting Lizzie, he goes out to the training grounds with you and almost gets himself killed. You were there. You know better than I what happened there, but it sounded to me like he choked. I don't think he believes in her, sir. And if you don't have faith in your 'Mech, you've got one foot in the grave already."

"Thank you, Leutnant. Dismissed."

Weddle snapped a crisp salute, and turned, leaving the Colonel's office.

Damn, the Colonel was one impossible bastard to get a read on. I'd hate to play poker against him, Weddle thought.

-

Dawg was next. The Colonel couldn't ask Hamilton. Hamilton would be obligated to stick up for his wingman, and, besides, he didn't want to put him in a position where he might have to be critical of his friend.

Colonel Henley stood up as Dawg entered. "Have a seat, Captain." He motioned to the already well worn swivel chair. The muscled jump infantry commander filled the entire chair and then some.

"Give me you assessment of Sigil. I've noticed since the arena fight, you two have spent some time together."

Dawg nodded. "Good kid. I know it's hard to believe, I barely believe it myself, but he's actually a lot like me. He's a gambler, a risk-taker. It's in his bones, he can't help himself. But I'll tell you this, he makes things happen. I don't care what anyone says, and I've heard some of the others talking, but back on Vega he saved all our asses. Twice. If Hamilton's 'Hammer had gone down, our assault would have faltered, possibly failed. And if he hadn't taken down those two Kurita assaults, we would've been wiped out when the Dragon came back for us. That's what I mean. He makes things happen. Every unit needs someone like that. Otherwise it's stalemate. He tilts the balance, and so far, it's always been in our favor. Now, I'm the first to admit, next time the balance might go against us, but I've always preferred decisive engagements. It's one of the reasons I signed on with you, Colonel. You're a gambler too, but more in a calculated risk kinda way."

"Thank you, Captain. Now, tell me what your thoughts are on McMillian and his squad."

For a second, Dawg actually looked suspicious, glancing away. "If I told you what I thought, I'd have to have your assurances it would stay strictly between you and I."  
The Colonel cocked one eyebrow, and fixed Dawg in his sights. "Please proceed, Captain. You have my assurance this discussion will be kept only between the two of us."

"Well, he's Black Ops for sure. Has the look of a man who'll do anything."

Dawg paused, giving Henley a meaningful look, before continuing on.

"And I mean anything. He's killed, I can tell just from looking at him. And I don't mean only in combat. I mean he's killed people. Borderline ruthless. In combat, I'm sure he's a terror. After combat, he's probably still a terror. But when I went looking for someone to cover my back, he's just the kind of man I'd trust with my life. He'll get it done, whatever it takes. I can't ask any man for more than that, but that's exactly what I ask for."

"You trust him, then?"

Dawg looked the Colonel full in the face. "Yes, sir, I do."

The Colonel met Dawg's gaze holding it for a long time. "There is something you're not telling me."

Dawg grinned sheepishly. "Well, Colonel, I'm not sure exactly how to put this."

"Try."

"I think he could still be an active LIC agent. I know a good thing when I see it, but I also know when I see something that's too good to be true. McMillan's qualifications could take him anywhere. He could land a gig with any unit. Why the 69th I keep asking myself? And it is a coincidence that he showed up after you accepted the contract with the AFFS for the Carbonis raid? You know the DMI and LIC are in the process of merging. Or, are they connected?"

Dawg shrugged, then added, "I don't know anything. Just a gut instinct. But my gut also tells me he's 100% in, I'm not worried about having him at my back, in fact, I can't think of anyone I'd rather have securing my rear."

"Thank you, Captain. Dismissed."

-

Sigil walked into the Colonel's office. "You wanted to see me, sir."

With a wave of his hand, Colonel Henley motioned towards the serviceable swivel chair across from his desk.

"Sit down, Leutnant. I've been reviewing your combat performance, simulated battle assessments, and unit evaluations."

Sigil eased himself slowly into the swivel chair, immediately on guard.

"I'm promoting you to 1st Leutnant, with the attendant increase in salary. I'm also designating you as the unit's Electronic Warfare Officer, which also carries additional compensation."

Sigil looked stunned. His mouth opened, hung that way for a moment, then snapped back shut, without a word ever being uttered.

The Colonel continued. "Leutnant, you have a very specialized and extremely rare skill set. Your work on the regenerative cooling systems of both my Battlemaster and Leutnant Weddle's Griffin deserves praise. I note your former Master Sergeant recommended you for Master Technician, and his written evaluation places you in the top one percent in regards to computers and other electronic systems. He also marked you as possessing excellent engineering potential. Furthermore, your work on targeting and tracking system is beyond anything I've seen. Not only did you retrofit the TharHes Star Shark into your Hatchetman, but you also significantly expanded its capabilities at the same time."

Sigil's eyes were growing larger by the second.  
The Colonel paused, holding his hands up. "Don't worry, Leutnant. Even though that would normally be considered an unauthorized transfer of unit equipment, I'm willing to overlook it. This time."

Sigil nodded dumbly.

"Now, regarding the upcoming Carbonis raid, I'm pulling you out of the Hatchetman. I want you to run my Battlemaster's command console. I will be holding the first mission briefing tomorrow at 0830 in the conference room. At this meeting, I will discuss the overall assault plan I have been developing and assign individual roles."

Sigil blinked twice and swallowed hard as the Colonel continued without pause.

"You will play a large role in the successful execution of the battle strategy. The command, control and communications functions will fall to you, with my oversight, at the command console."

The Colonel paused, looking at Sigil, then actually chuckled. "I expect I will be distracted by multiple enemy targets."

Sigil sat perfectly still for a long moment. His brow furrowed as he finally found his voice.

"You're… you're… taking me out of Lizzie?!"

Sigil faltered, then recomposed himself. "I mean, I'm not piloting the Hatchetman, sir?

The Colonel's calm, calculating manner never wavered. "Excellent, 1st Leutnant. I was beginning to think you didn't understand a word I just said. Mission Briefing 0830. Dismissed."

Sigil slowly rose from the swivel chair looking disoriented and confused. He was halfway out the door when he suddenly remembered to turn and salute the Colonel.

-

Chapter 6

Galatea  
Lyran Commonwealth  
3041

Captain Varukka Salt was striding smartly towards the Colonel's office. She had a lot on her mind. She'd just requisitioned almost 200,000 C-bills worth of long range missiles, and another 120,000 for four new ablative drop cocoons for the upcoming raid. Spanner was still on the Shadowhawk, getting the old DropShip ready for departure. Well, as ready as she'd get anyway.

Kerensky, she hated presenting bills to the CO.

Ahead, she saw the tech just coming out of the Colonel's office. As he drew closer, she noticed his thousand yard stare. And he was coming straight at her.

She shifted to one side of the hallway, then clipped him with her shoulder as he passed, spinning him around a good 180 degrees.

She yelled angrily, "Hey! Tech! Watch where the hell you're going would you!"

He whirled suddenly on her, and she didn't like what she saw in his face one bit. She'd seen it before. The dangerous look of a feral, half-crazed man about to come unhinged.

The Colonel appeared in the doorway of his office. "Let it go, Captain Salt. Please come in." He gestured into his office.

She strode quickly into the Colonel's office, leaving the tech standing alone in the hallway.

-

Sigil roared into the lounge, fixing Leutnant Weddle with a gaze as sharp as daggers, and full with the promise of violence.

"You dirty little snitch! You ratted me out to the Colonel!" He stalked across the lounge, closing on Weddle.

"All this time you've just been pretending to be my friend. All the while you've been spying on me for the Colonel, you traitorous dog!"

Weddle got up from his chair, standing, arm crossed.

Sigil sneered. "I hope you're happy. The Colonel just pulled me out of the Lizzie. I'm the unit's new glorified radio operator."

He came lunging at Weddle, throwing a haymaker at his face as he flung himself forward.

Weddle dropped instantly into a defensive crouch, easily ducking the wild punch, retaliating with two quick strikes to Sigil's exposed solar plexus.

Sigil instantly went down hard, the wind knocked completely out of him. Chairs fell over all around, as he rolled around on the ground trying to regain his breath.

Weddle stood over his prone form, smirking. "The only thing that sucks worse than your gunnery, Sig, is your unarmed combat."

Enraged, Sigil launched himself from the ground, wrapping both of his arms around Weddle's waist as he tackled him.

Smashing into the table behind them, they slid across its surface, Sigil pounding Weddle's stomach as Weddle socked him in the eye.

The table gave way, its surface simply splitting down the middle, spilling both combatants to the ground with an earsplitting crash as they continued to wail on each other.

Dawg, Hamilton, Kitten, and McMillan, alerted by the racket, all suddenly pulled up shy of the lounge as they saw the brawl in progress.

Weddle had finally managed to get on top of Sigil, pinning his arms to the ground. Sigil's left eye was already beginning to swell up.

Dawg barked out. "I think that's enough both of you! Now clean this mess up, on the double!"

Dawg turned, looking down the hallway. Colonel Henley and Captain Salt were approaching. He called out, "Sorry for the interruption, Colonel. Everything's under control. Mechanical failure."

The Colonel stopped, giving Dawg a long quizzical look.

He snapped a crisp 180 degree turn, and he and the DropShip captain returned to his office.

-

Corporal Southers still marveled at how he got here. Just goes to show the difference going to the right Academy makes. He'd graduated from Sanglamore right into The War of 3039. Straight from the academy to a combat assignment with the 8th Donegal Guards.

And not just any assignment either, assault lance. He was assigned an 80-ton STC-2S Striker. Of course there hadn't been a new Striker made since 2867 when the Stormvanger assembly lines had been destroyed. Stormvanger was also the same company that made the better known 90-ton Cyclops. Both rare 'Mechs, still the Striker was a bit of an antique. Some people just blinked dumbly when he said he piloted one.

Armed with a Hellstar particle cannon, a Defiance Killer class 10 autocannon, and a trio of medium lasers it demanded respect. The 13.5 tons of armor didn't hurt either. A less tangible advantage was the fact it was a relatively unknown chassis. He suspected he'd caught more than one Snake off guard with its rare design.

Not that ended up making much difference. The Eighth had run smack into one the so called DCMS "Ghost Regiments." Yeah. He'd learned a thing or two about unrecognized units during their Altais campaign. Guillotine, Black Knight, Kintaro, Daboku, the First Ghost had been full of surprises, all of them unpleasant.

Ultimately, the Eighth, supported by both the Dragonslayers and the legendary Gray Death Legion, succeeded in taking the planet from the First and Second Ghost. They'd paid for it, though. And his Striker had ended up as part of the bill. One of resurrected Guillotines, as a matter of fact, had brought him down. Who expected the Dracs to be fielding a 70-ton 'Mech with jump jets? I mean, the DCMS stripped the jump jets off their own Phoenix Hawks, right?

Like with everything else about The War of 3039, in the end it didn't matter. The successful DCMS counterstrike ended up cutting off Altais from the Lyran slines. After paying in blood and 'Mechs the Eighth, and their mercenary allies, simply packed up and left. The Eight returned to Sevren, and that was that, the war was over.

When the Eighth didn't assign him a new 'Mech immediately, he took it as a sign. They'd lost at least a third of their fighting strength on Altais and there was every indication there would be a long refitting period next. So when his tour was finished, he just rotated out.

That's how he'd ended up here, on Galatea, the Mercenary Star. He knew he was a good pilot. Plus, he had combat experience with a respected house line unit. He wasn't quite ready to walk away from the cockpit, so he figured he'd spend a year or two on The Star, see if anything developed. It was a long shot, considering he was Dispossessed, but not impossibility.

He'd already been on the circuit for more months then he'd like to admit, when he found out the 69th Expeditionary was hiring. He'd put off following up on it for a while. He was still hoping to land a 'Mech with an established, respected unit. One with a history behind it. He'd really hoped The Grey Death Legion would take him on, but that hadn't panned out. Neither had the Kell Hounds, the Eridani Light Horse, or the Northwind Highlanders. Ok, sure, he'd aimed high right out of the gate, but who wouldn't?

So, eventually, he'd found his way into Colonel Jason Henley's office. The Colonel had noticed his dark green silk sash immediately. He still wore it for some reason. It marked you as a graduate of Sanglamore on Skye. Anyway, turned out all the MechWarriors in the 69th were Sanglamore graduates. Well, when I say all, that really just means four. The 69th consisted of a single lance, two jump infantry squads, a pair of VTOLs, and Leopard. Yeah. Small.

But, amazingly, the Colonel had spare 'Mechs. Not just one, but two. A Commando and a Hatchetman. The Colonel did his due diligence, called the references he'd provided who were still in the Eighth Donegal, verified his Sanglamore transcripts, reviewed his combat sims, and then offered him another chance to pilot.

Naturally, he'd accepted, and just as naturally, picked the heavier of the two 'Mechs, the 45-ton Hatchetman. After Sanglamore, he was terminally sick of Commandos. The ironic thing was that Sigil, a fellow Sanglamore grad, had retrofitted the Commando's TharHes Star Shark targeting and tracking system into the Hatchetman. Consequently, he felt right at home in the cockpit even though he'd never piloted a Hatchetman before. Not only that, he'd actually improved the Star Shark. It was a surprisingly nice ride.

And not just the improved electronics. He was caught even more off guard when he found out it carried one of the new LB-X class 10 autocannons. Gotta be black market. That grade hardware was military only. The 69th might be a new unit, but they were sure starting out with top of the line tech. Rumor was the Colonel was some kind of landed gentry back on his home planet. Well, the money must have come from somewhere.

For him, it all came down to one thing in the end.

He wasn't dispossessed anymore.

-

The command staff of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force filed into the conference room. One wall was dominated by the composite satellite imagery of the IMB factory complex on Carbonis provided by the AFFS. Their target.

The various captains arrived first. Varukka Salt, the captain of Shadowfax, the unit's Leopard class Dropship was the first to arrive. Wearing her trademark rust colored leather body suit, stunstick at her side, she reclined back into her seat, sipping coffee.

The infantry captains were next. Dawg entered dressed in his BDUs, and on his heels was Ernie McMillan, a recent addition to the unit. Ernie was in a crisp black dress uniform. Not a single identifying mark on it. No name, no rank, no unit insignia, nothing. Only the military cut of the uniform gave any indication he was armed forces. Black Ops, he looked the part. They both sat down next to each other, starting to examine the satellite intelligence.

Next came Leutnant Weddle and Leutnant Hamilton, both chuckling as they entered. Coffee in one hand, donuts in the other, they had the rumpled appearance of people just waking up. They plopped down into a pair of chairs, looking around at the others. Weddle's eyes paused and lingered on Varukka for just moment too long, as she turned to meet his interested look with a pair of eyes as cold as ice, challenging him to continue to hold his gaze. He quickly shifted off her, pretending to study their target, the IMB warehouse.

The click of the Colonel's immaculate dress shoes was unmistakable to them all by now. Moments later, he strode into the conference room, his eyes taking in his assembled command staff.

He frowned. Weddle and Hamilton both straightened up in their chairs, their smile replaced with a look a studious interest.

The Colonel was armed with a long antique maple pointer. It snapped with a crack against the enormous display behind him.

"This is the IMB factory complex on Carbonis in the Free Worlds League. They produce as many as eight different BattleMech targeting and tracking systems. The systems are assembled here." There was another crack as his pointer smacked up against a large fortified factory building.

The pointer slid down, towards a smaller building nearby. "After they are assembled, they are warehoused here, in this structure approximately 250 meters away."

A prolonged drawn out groan sounded from the door to the conference room. Sigil, wearing a huge, ridiculous pair of aviator shades, was suddenly the center of attention, caught as he tried to slip into the mission briefing. He froze as seven different sets of eyes transfixed him.

The Colonel cleared his throat. Sigil's mouth began to open, but the Colonel cut him off before he could get a word out.

"As I was saying, this is the production and assembly area here, 250 meters away, here, is the warehouse where the systems are stored prior to being shipped off planet. This, here, houses the power generators for the entire complex."

"And this is how we're going to destroy the entire facility." He paused, making eye contact with each of his seven command staff before continuing.

"The AFFS JumpShip will be using a pirate navigational point to get us as close to the planet as possible. Captain Salt will then conduct a fast, hard burn to make planet fall at 0200. I received additional intelligence from the DMI indicating there was a navigation satellite in geo-synchronous orbit over the target area. As we enter the atmosphere she will attempt to take control of that asset and provide us with detailed topographical information of the area, and potentially a real-time feed of the battlefield depending on its scanning capabilities."

"The DMI also indicated a high likelihood of hardened weaponized turrets around the main factory building. Possibly between three and seven such turrets."

"Once we enter the atmosphere, Leutnant Weddle, Leutnant Hamilton, Corporal Southers, and myself will drop from ablative cocoons to the planet surface. Ideally, Hamilton, Southers, and I will land adjacent to the power generators, while Weddle will land near the storage facility. If turrets are indeed present and active, the power generators will be the primary target for these three 'Mechs, if not they will instead proceed to attack the factory itself, engaging other targets as required. Weddle will engage targets of opportunity."

"Captain Salt will continue her descent, and once she reaches the lower altitudes will open the rear gangway, allowing the jump infantry to deploy. With any luck, they will land here, and here, near Leutnant Weddle's Griffin. They will storm the warehouse, set explosives, and blow the warehouse as quickly as conditions allow. Satellite imagery indicates it is not a reinforced structure."

"Captain Salt will then conduct a strafing run against the main factory structure. It is critical the turrets are disabled before she makes her attack, otherwise there is a significant possibly our transport will be damaged." The Colonel paused a moment to let the gravity of the situation sink in.

"A successful strafing run will roughly cut the time required to destroy the factory in half. Time is our enemy, people. DMI estimates a company of 'Mechs onsite. Carbonis, as a whole, is host to the entire 9th Marik Militia, a full regiment sized unit. You can be sure there is at least another company of 'Mechs not too far away."

"Using the information from the navigational satellite, Captain Salt will then proceed to locate the nearest suitable landing location. Once grounded, the Ripper and the Nightshade will launch to provide advanced warning of any other approaching units. Shadowfax will be essentially defenseless at this point."

"Once the factory is destroyed, the two VTOLs will recover the infantry, and we will all rendezvous at the landing site. We lift off, dock with AFFS JumpShip and depart the system."

The Colonel scanned all of the assembled faces. "The plan relies on speed and surprise. It is essential to avoid a long protracted fight. The objective is the destruction of the industrial complex."

The Colonel repeated. "The industrial complex. Period."

Crack! His antique maple pointer practically bounced off the image of the assembly plant.

"We will take a fifteen minute break, then reconvene for discussion." He walked to the attached data terminal, swiping his finger across the screen. The satellite image of IMB Systems disappeared.

-

Chapter 7

Carbonis  
Free World Leagues  
3042

Sigil was nervous sitting high and behind the Colonel in the Battlemaster's command console. Strapped into an ablative drop cocoon with a single hardwire connection to the DropShip's communication system, it felt lonely too. Especially after the close confines of the transit here.

Even after Spanner had made extensive modifications to the two aerospace bays, there was simply no getting around the fact the Leopard class just wasn't designed to transport infantry squads in addition to BattleMechs. Consequently, the 69th Expeditionary had been tripping over each other's feet for almost three weeks now.  
And the smell. The reclamation and sanitation systems had been pushed to their limits, probably over their limits, frankly. When you added it all up, jumping off the DropShip into the high altitude atmosphere of a hostile planet in an 85-ton war machine with no jumpjets suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Captain Salt's feminine voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Standby to enter planetary atmosphere. Make sure all gear is properly stowed and secured."

The AFFS JumpShip had entered the system using a pirate point. He had to hand that much to the AFFS Captain. She'd successfully calculated the jump solution otherwise they wouldn't be here right now. Always a risky move, a miscalculation and who knows what happens to you, but you can be pretty sure it isn't going to be anything good.

The jump was followed by a high-speed burn to Carbonis, and, anytime now, the high altitude combat drop.

Even densely wrapped in the drop cocoon, Sigil felt Shadowfax buck as they hit the atmosphere.

Captain Salt's voice came over the com once again.

"Encountering significant high altitude turbulence. If you're going to make target, it's going to be a rough ride. Otherwise, I can shed altitude, circle back around, and try again. Colonel?"

"Understood. Captain Salt, drop us on target first pass. We'll correct mid-fall as necessary. Over."

Sigil shifted uncomfortably in his command couch. Colonel Henley addressed him within the confines of cockpit.

"Lt. Sigil. I want you to pilot the drop. You have more experience handling jumpjet controls than I, and you're an excellent pilot. Get us on the ground in one piece, and I'll take over from there. Once we land, you will be managing the tactical situation and handling coordination between our unit, the infantry, the VTOLs, and Captain Salt. You know the battle plan. Make sure it's executed properly."

Sigil saw the reflection of the Colonel's face on the canopy glassteel. He was actually smiling as he added, "I'll be concentrating on the destruction of the factory complex and anything foolish enough to get within range."

Captain Salt came over the comlink, beginning the countdown. "Opening 'Mech bay doors in Time minus 30 seconds."

"T minus 10"

"T minus 5"

"4"

"3"

"2"

"Bay doors open."

"1"

-

There are two distinct phases to a combat drop. First, controlling the fall. Second, the landing. Sigil had his hands full with the first.

Varukka hadn't done them any favors on the drop. The bucking DropShip had basically thrown the 85-ton war machine out of the 'Mech bay. Consequently, the angle of attack was way off, right out of the gate. At least she had got them into the atmosphere.

Altimeter, fuel gauge, and a false horizon were about the extent of the avionics on the drop cocoon. Oh, and of course the ground proximity warning, just in case you weren't aware of the ground rushing up to meet you and needed a little reminder.  
Sigil brought the 'Mechs legs underneath it's main bulk, canted forward about thirty degrees and started a long burn of the strap-on jump jets. As the Battlemaster slowed, he brought its torso and head slowly into alignment with its legs. Not bad.

Suddenly, the proximity klaxon started screaming. Reflexively, Sigil bore down hard on the jumpjets. He'd always piloted 'Mechs with a jump capability, so it was instinctive to hit the jumpjets whenever any kind of unexpected trouble occurred.

Usurper! Had it taken that long to get lined up!?

He flexed the assault 'Mechs legs, hoping to at least take the edge off the impact. He could see the lights of the IMB factory complex clearly now. Four long spears of light were tracing seemingly random patterns across the night sky. Searchlights.  
Well, you couldn't exactly hide 2,000 tons worth of DropShip now could you?

"Brace for landing."

He never let off the jump pack.

With a bone jarring impact, the 85-ton 'Mech hit the ferrocrete pavement surrounding one of the IMB buildings. Both knees bent, as he shot out the 'Mechs left arm to stabilize their landing. Chunks of ferrocrete exploded around them, surrounding them with a haze of swirling dust particles as they drove over a meter deep into the ground.

Sigil winced, minor damage to both legs.

The Colonel's voice broke his concentration. "Assuming BattleMech control."  
Sigil directed his attention to the Hartford XKZ 1, as he flipped the COM 4000 over to the encrypted command frequency.

"Status Report."

Captain Salt was first, "Rear bay doors open. Infantry drop in progress. On target in 30 seconds."

"Weddle here." His voice mixed with the sounds of numerous explosions. "Count 4, repeat 4, active weapon turrets on the main factory buildings with spotlights. Taking fire. Likely LRM-20s."

Sigil was thrown back against the command couch as the Colonel unleashed the full firepower of the assault in a single blinding flash. Sections of the building visible through the glassteel canopy vaporized, leaving gaping holes and gashes all along its exterior.

Varukka abruptly cut in. "Colonel, you better have those turrets powered down by the time I conduct my strafing run if you plan on getting a ride back off this planet. Otherwise…" She left it hanging.

Sigil quickly scanned the targeting systems. Actually, her drop was pretty good. They'd landed on target, adjacent to the IMB power generators. Hamilton's Shadowhawk and Souther's Hatchetman were within 90 meters of his current position. Weddle's Griffin was due south, near the warehouse.

And thank Kerensky the XKZ 1 had target identification. Between the near darkness and the looming industrial buildings blocking most of the lines of sight, visual identification would have been near impossible. As it was, four targets were glowing red and neatly labeled.

A QKD-4G Quickdraw was just on the far side of the generators, about 150 meters northeast. A SHD-2H Shadowhawk 120 meters to their rear, a HER-2S Hermes II off to the right 120 meters, and a UM-R60 Urbanmech a good 300 meters behind them near Weddle's Griffin.

Chapter 8

Carbonis  
Free World Leagues  
3042

The searchlights atop each of the buildings were sweeping back and forth across the industrial site, their powerful beams searching for the 'Mechs which had dropped from the night sky.

Lt. Weddle's cockpit was briefly flooded with light before the canopy polarization activated as a pair of the beams fixed on his 55-ton Griffin.

Seconds later, long range missiles began exploding all around him from the turrets atop the main fabrication facility. They clustered heavily along his right side, blasting away more than a ton of his armor in the process and leaving his valuable right arm with its Sunglow Type 2 heavy laser dangerously exposed.

Hitting the jump jets, Weddle sent his Griffin leaping backwards seeking cover from the LRMs behind the storage building. Moments later the squat, armless form of the Marik Urbanmech came trundling around the side.

He was ready. A trio of lasers stabbed through the darkness, the Sunglow and the pair of Diverse Optics mediums mounted on his right torso.

He grinned in satisfaction as sparks flew from the Urbanmech's Imperator B autocannon which also served as the 'Mechs right arm, the weapon canting awkwardly down obviously damaged. The other medium laser scored the armor on its right leg. The 30-ton 'Mech was now effectively disarmed, having only a single Harmon light laser left to defend itself.

His com cracked to life, Dawg's gruff voice coming through the static. "Hey Weddle, mind making a door for the boys and I? We're gonna blow that warehouse, might want to clear outta there when you're done."

The Urbanmech had already retreated back around from where it had come from, as Weddle turned his weapons against the wall of the warehouse. Hot loading the warheads of his Delta Dart 15 rack, he sent the full firepower of his war machine against it. Laser fire and warheads slammed into the steel structure, numerous holes appearing in the skin of the now smoking building. A vicious kick opened a hole directly into the interior causing the dim light from the interior to spill out across his feet. Gripping the edge of one of the ragged holes with his left hand, he peeled back an even larger section of the exterior wall.

"Mission accomplished Dawg. If you can't make it through that hole, you gotta lose some serious weight! Heads up, I'm leaving the trashcan for you to deal with. I'm moving in support of the Colonel. All it's got left is a small laser, and I took some of the armor off its right leg. Should be easy work. Over and out."

-

The Colonel was barking out orders over the command frequency. "Corporal Southers, keep that Shadow Hawk busy while Lt. Hamilton and I take down the power generators. Sigil, get that satellite online, ASAP!"

The Battlemaster shuddered as the Colonel unleashed a devastating alpha-strike against the hardened ferrocrete bunker housing the power generators. The 85-ton 'Mech bucked as its heavily armored foot stove in the side of the building, followed by a punch from the left arm's battlefist. Immediately next to him, Lt. Hamilton's Shadow Hawk was doing exactly the same thing, as both 'Mechs strove to destroy the fortified structure. Thankfully, they were both located on the opposite side of the building, away from the turrets and blissfully out of their line-of-sight.

Sigil's fingers were flying over the control surface immediately above and behind the Colonel. Come on, come on, COME ON! Whoever was running the communications grid on Carbonis had taken at least a few steps to prevent unauthorized access. He changed tactics as he saw a sudden burst of communications traffic from the assembly plant. Switching on the HartfordCo COM 400's spectrum analyzer, he had their frequency identified in seconds.

Capt. Salt's tense voice interrupted him. "Colonel, I'm lining up for my strafing run now. Those turrets still look active. ETA 30 seconds. And where's the satellite you promised me, tech?"

Sigil grunted in dismay, the Battlemaster jerking once again as the Colonel unleashed another full salvo against the bunker, following it up with another bone jarring kick. The Colonel growled, "What the hell are you doing back there Sigil, this isn't some ****** Solaris holovid!"

-

Hearing the Colonel's orders, Corporal Southers wheeled his 45-ton Hatchetman around to face the Marik Shadow Hawk, and started to advance. The missile lock indicator started screaming just as he was lining up his Defiance Disintegrator LB 10-X autocannon. A flight of LRMs slammed into him from behind, evaporating the thin armor on his right rear, but thankfully failing to damage anything internal. The right arm and leg took the remaining missile strikes. But just as he was reorienting himself, the Shadow Hawk's Armstrong J11 opened fire and began chewing away at his other arm.

The Colonel's voice broke over the com. "Southers! Get the hell outta the LOS from those turrets! You'll get scrapped in seconds hanging out there in the open like that!"

Southers jerked the throttle back into reverse, hastily adjusting the targeting reticle and letting fly his first shot of the engagement. The Disintegrator spat forth a large bore slug which went sailing harmlessly over the Shadow Hawk's left shoulder.

It was Sigil's voice this time. "Southers! Watch that Hermes, he coming around your left flank at full speed!" As if on cue, the Hermes opened up with its Oriente medium autocannon, stitching a line of holes across his right torso.

Southers froze, his mind torn in two, first by the Shadow Hawk bearing down straight at him, and second by the Hermes on his left flank. The few precious seconds of indecision cost him, as both 'Mechs continued to pour fire on him. Autocannon rounds pounded his torso, as the 'Mechs closed in on him, adding their short range weapons into the mix. A pair of medium lasers drilled into his already damaged 'Mech, one to the chest, the other to the right leg, as the Shadow Hawk's Holly SRM-2 missed high.

It was all he could to keep upright and stumbling backwards. Shouldn't he be returning fire, he thought to himself?

-  
Weddle had seen it before. Southers was quickly approaching the breaking point, if he wasn't there already. He surprised himself with the realization that for all his flaws, Sigil had never frozen up. In fact, just the opposite, he was a hot head all the way. Shoving the thought aside, he stomped on the Griffin's Rawling 55s, sending his 'Mech arcing towards the beleaguered Hatchetman, the three streams of fire emanating from his back illuminating the night in a bloody right light.

LRMs from the turrets screamed past his jumping 'Mech as he dropped his reticle over the HER-2S. He sent both the Sunglow and Delta Dart at the 40-ton 'Mech catching it unawares. Half a ton of armor melted off its left leg as a full dozen of his LRM exploded all across it.

You think that got his attention, Weddle chuckled.

Just as quickly as his smiled appeared, it was gone as his missile lock indicator started blaring again. He braced himself for the inevitable. He knew when he'd made that jump he was exposing himself to the turrets.

"Southers! Get your shit together man! Forget the Hermes, I gotta it covered. Keep that 'Hawk busy! If we can't knock those turrets offline we're all scrap!"

-

Chapter 9

Carbonis  
Free World Leagues  
3042

Lt. Hamilton was focused on reducing the wall in front of him rubble. He saw the Marik Quickdraw come tearing around the north side of the building and gritted his teeth. He'd just have to eat it. Two Omicron 4000 mediums and its Hovertec Quad slammed into his left side, savaging his left arm.

Still he remained on target, ignoring the 60-ton Marik machine and continuing to hammer away at the wall with everything he had. Large cracks appeared, and huge chunks of ferrocrete fell to ground throwing up clouds of dust, further obscuring the already dark scene.

The Colonel's voice rang out over the din. "Hamilton, remain on target, and you might want to duck. I'll give your friend there a little welcome."

Hamilton dropped his 'Hawk to one knee as he continued to hammer away at the wall. He unleased another full salvo against the already severely damaged section of the bunker the Colonel and he had been working on. He was rewarded almost immediately as a large section of the wall fell away, shattering as it hit the ground, and exposing the interior of the power station.

"Power station breached, Colonel. Time to shut this baby down!"

The Colonel smiled briefly as he tracked his torso to the left and locked onto the Quickdraw. The firepower of his assault 'Mech was truly staggering, especially at short range. A full sextet of Martell mediums and a Holly six rack, all led by his powerful Donal PPC coalesced with grim precision on the enemy 'Mech.

A trio of the Martells completely melted the armor protecting the Quickdraw's right torso. Then one of the warheads exploded against the exposed internals, followed by the devastating Donal. Most of the remaining weapons hit the right leg, but the true damage had already been done.

The Quickdraw shuddered violently under the onslaught as the pilot fought to keep his machine upright. But it was a losing battle. The Hovertec's ammunition bin in the right torso exploded violently outwards, lifting it off its feet and throwing the 60-ton 'Mech backwards like a rag doll. As explosions continued to wrack the 'Mech, it began to pin wheel in mid-air before it was thrown viciously to the ground where finally it was consumed in a large fireball which briefly lit up the night sky.

The Colonel's cool voice came over the com. "Target neutralized. Hamilton, bring those generators down ASAP. Captain Salt is getting anxious."

-

Terminal velocity. What a great name Dawg thought to himself, as he fell from the sky at almost 200 kph. His squad was arrayed out to either side of him, having just commenced the HALO jump from the small craft bay of the Shadowfax.

His jump infantry squad was heavily weighed down. Jump packs, sub-machine guns, shoulder mount missiles, satchel charges and other assorted explosives hung from the webbing of the soldiers under his command as they free fell through the night air towards their target.

He could see the long arms of the searchlights waving back and forth searching for the intruders in the darkness as he plummeted towards the industrial site. His altimeter spun rapidly. As it dropped below 1000 ft., he began firing his jump pack in short bursts beginning to shed the excess velocity, preparing for landing.

"Squad, brace for landing." It looked as if the night sky was filled with fireflies, as the flames of 21 jump packs sparked to life in the darkness.

Dawg fired one last long sustained burst from his jump pack as the ground rushed up to meet him. Then he was on the ground, the sound of the rushing wind replaced immediately by autocannon fire and the tromping of the heavy war machines all around him.

As he glanced left, he saw Weddle's Griffin illuminated by the spotlights, LRMs exploding all around him as he headed northwest towards the power generators. Ahead of him was the gaping hole in the storage depot Weddle had created for him only moments earlier.

"Check in by the numbers!" he called into his headset, as he thumbed the quick release on his jump pack, readying his Mauser 9000 as he did so and taking stock of his platoon.

The calls came back instantly. "Platoon One, all accounted for, Sir! Second Platoon, full strength, Sir!"  
His own platoon had come through unscathed as well. "One and Two, in through the breach and set the charges. Three with me, we're gonna clean up the trash Weddle left behind."

Fourteen heavily armed marines swarmed through the ragged hole in the side of the warehouse, their jump packs left behind scattered about the ground like leaves. Dawg motioned his platoon ahead, his men readying their assorted weapons and they headed towards the corner of the warehouse.

-

Weddle fought the controls of his Griffin as the turret mounted LRMs mercilessly pounded his exposed position. It was moments like these that made him miss the 13 tons of Ryerson 150 armor his former Thunderbolt sported. Warheads exploded all across his chest, both sides now dangerously low on armor. A few of the warheads also found their way to his right arm, leaving it entirely bare of armor. She was taking a beating.

As he closed on the relative safety of Colonel's position, the Hermes II spun around, heading his way. Looks like he'd gotten its attention after all. His reticle was still tracking it, and as the range between them closed they both let fly with everything they had. His Sunglow nailed it center mass, evaporating a half ton of armor off the 40-ton 'Mech. Nine of the Delta Dart's LRMs hit as well, stripping more armor from it center torso and scoring another line across its right leg. One of the Diverse Optics mediums drilled the other already damaged leg, the next missing wide. One good kick to either leg would probably send it to the ground. He grunted in disappointment as he shoved the throttle wide open only to discover it was already there.

Again the HER 2-S's Oriente autocannon fired, sending it's depleted uranium slugs eating away at the structure of his severely damaged right arm. One more hit to the arm, and it'd be destroyed, denying him his main weapon system in the process. The Irian medium laser struck his left torso, now leaving less than a quarter ton of armor protecting it.

The two 'Mechs rushed together as a gout of flames from the Hermes's Olympian flamer bathed his Griffin in fire, sending the temperature ever higher, but the Freezers Sigil had installed back on Galatea made every difference.

His right leg shot out connecting solidly with the left leg of the Marik 'Mech, as it returned the kick. Armor plates crumped on his right leg, but it was the first damage it had taken and the armor held nicely.

It was another story entirely for the Hermes, however. With 55-tons of weight behind his foot, he punted the left leg of the Hermes entirely off, sending the mangled remains flying end-over-end across the battlefield, and sending the 2S crashing roughly to the ground.

He didn't stop to admire his work, however, not with those weapons turrets still active. As he continued past the fallen Hermes, he was pleased to Southers had finally gotten his shit together.

-

Sigil jumped frequencies to the one used by the IMB communications center, trying another tack at gaining access to the satellite. He glanced up as the Battlemaster's command console was bathed in a fiery red, watching in macabre fascination as a 60-ton Quickdraw ceased to exist.

The Colonel's voice interrupted him from the command couch just below and in front on him. "If you're done watching, Lt., you might want to consider doing something useful before I activate the waste reclamation circuit and send you out with the rest of the useless deadweight."

Sigil quickly returned attention to the control surface, continuing to try and convince the satellite he was a friendly. This had better work, he thought to himself, as he stabbed the transmit button yet again.

The seconds dragged by interminably as he waited holding his breath. His console flashed, "Uplink Established."

Thank Kerensky! "Satellite online, Colonel!" he yelled across the cockpit. "I'm patching it through to Shadowfax now."

He opened up the command net. "Captain Salt, I've got your satellite, patching the uplink through to you now. And it's a nice one! Infrared Imagers, and Look-Down Radar. Looks like an Antares series, real nice. It'll have full topography info for ya. Should be a cinch to locate a suitable LZ."

The comlink crackled to life, "I'm a bit busy right now, tech, but it's about ****** time," Salt snarled over the radio. "Targeting main factory complex now. Keep your heads down, and if you're good little boys I might even give you a ride back home."

Sigil flipped over to the infrared feed. "Uh oh… Colonel, I've got a lance of inbounds, vector 45, 600. Putting it up on your secondary now. Looks like another Quickdraw, a Phoenix Hawk, Cicada, and a Wasp. Moving fast. They'll be in range in just over a minute."

-

They didn't call the Leopard "The Brick" without reason, Captain Salt cursed, as Shadowfax bucked and bulled its way through the thick low atmosphere. She was a bear to line up on target for the strafing run against the factory complex, but it was even worse trying to keep her there.

She fought, muscled, and cajoled the control stick while constantly babying the output of its V84 drive system. "Fire Control, standby. Commencing final approach to target. Make it count, we're only making one pass. Focus fire on the main assembly building."

She noted the searchlights were still active, in fact, the entire complex was still sprinkled with lights. Curses that would make a space marine blush flew from her mouth. "Brace yourselves, we're going to take fire! Spanner, keep a close eye on the drives, I can't afford any surprises flying this close the ground unless you don't mind ending up as a crater," she growled.

Shadowfax carried a respectable amount of firepower. Dual PPCs, a trio of LRM 20s, five large lasers and seven mediums completed her armament. And with the exception of the aft mounted large laser and two mediums, she was going to put it all on target.

The huge 1,700 ton spacecraft roared like thunder over the IMB factory complex, huge horizontal pillars of flame spewing from its massive engines as the monolith tore through the night sky.

Sixty missiles, a fusillade of laser fire, and twin particle cannons burst forth from her boxy aerodyne frame as all four roof mounted weapons turrets switched to track her, returning fire by sending up a full eighty long range missiles to greet her.

Shadowfax was rocked by missile explosions, heavily concentrated against her left wing. The Leopard class DropShip began listing dangerously to the left as Captain Varukka Salt began barking commands.

"Spanner, full throttle port engine! Cut the starboard to 75% and fire the port side landing thrusters! She wants to auger in!"

She wrenched the control stick hard to the right, sweat beading suddenly on her forehead. "Sanchez! Find me a ****** LZ NOW! This bitch is going to land one way or the other!"

She whispered to herself, "Dammit Colonel, you promised those turrets would be down before I arrived."

-

Chapter 10

Carbonis  
Free Worlds League  
3042

All of the training finally kicked in, as Corporal Southers sprang into action. He continued falling back, staying out of turrets line of sight, firing his Defiance Disintegrator at the approaching Marik Shadow Hawk. The slug slammed into the Hawk's left leg, crushing the armor plating but failing to slow it.

The 'Hawk responded with its J11 autocannon, returning the favor, as rounds exploded against his own left leg, but its LRMs exploded harmlessly behind him.

Then they began exchanging laser fire. One of his B3M mediums missed wide, but the other scored a hit on the dead center of its chest. The Hawk's Martell drilled into own his left leg again, leaving only a scant quarter ton of armor remaining there. Both missiles from its Holly twin rack hit as well, blasting armor fragments off his chest and left arm. He'd taken damage everywhere, the wire diagram projected in the corner of his HUD showed his entire 'Mech now in the yellow.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Weddle's Griffin clearly illuminated by the spotlights as missiles rained ruthlessly down on him from the roof of the main assembly building, obscuring the scene in smoke and fire as he charged across the darkened industrial grounds towards the enemy Hermes.

He snapped his attention back to the Shadow Hawk as it continued to rapidly close on him, clearly not intimidated by the hatchet he was wielding. He abruptly reversed his movement, throwing the 45-ton Hatchetman into a lumbering run straight towards the 'Hawk. Raising the hatchet above his head, he prepared to cut down the 55-ton machine. You're only allowed a single mistake in this game, buddy, he thought grimly to himself.

The two 'Mechs unloaded again, practically at point blank range as they rushed to meet each other. The slug from Souther's Disintegrator buried itself in the 'Hawks already damaged left leg, entirely destroying the armor, and taking some of the structure with it as well. His twin B3Ms sent armor streaming of its right arm, but again he failed to critically damage the Marik machine.

The 'Hawk stumbled as the slug lodged itself in its leg, sending its torso mounted autocannon chewing up the ferrocrete directly in front of him. There was a blinding flash of light as its Martell laser drilled him in the head, the shock sending his head bouncing off the side of the cockpit wall, momentarily disorienting him, as one of the SRMs exploded against his right leg.

The three ton hatchet flailed wildly, cutting through nothing but air as Southers struggled to keep the Hatchetman upright. The Shadow Hawk aimed a wicked punch at the damaged 'Mech's head, missing as the Hatchetman unexpectedly staggered to the side fighting to maintain its balance.

-

Hamilton leaned through the hole in the side of the power station, and began laying waste to the interior. He fired his trio of lasers as fast as they'd recycle, and his Hovertec Quad as quickly it would reload. Huge explosions ripped through the building as he systematically destroyed the dynamos, alternators, induction engines, and other related power generating equipment.

Seconds later, the entire IMB Systems complex was plunged into darkness as the power cut out. There was a low rubble as a few backup generators kicked on creating isolated spots bathed by red emergency lighting.

Still, he reported the obvious. "Power generators destroyed, Colonel. Proceeding to the primary target. Over."

-

Sigil was screaming from the console behind him. "Colonel! Shadowfax is hit! Damage to the port wing. She's gonna land rough! No LZ coordinates yet! The second Marik lance entering the perimeter in less than 30 seconds! I'm picking up a lot of encrypted traffic from about 10 klicks out. Looks like the cats outta the bag! No other additional contacts at this time! Both Souther's and Wedde's 'Mechs have moderate damage! Dawg's engaging the damaged Urbanmech now, the rest of his men are preparing to blow warehouse! Enemy Quickdraw destroyed! Hermes crippled! And we've got a Shadow Hawk on our six!"

The Colonel began wheeling his 85-ton assault 'Mech around as he started issuing orders over the command net. "Weddle, provide fire support for Hamilton. Hamilton engage the incoming enemy lance. Southers and I will take care of the primary. Dawg, move on the main entrance to the primary once you're done with the warehouse."

As he completed his about face, he calmly tracked past the stumbling Hatchetman, dropping his targeting reticle over the approaching Marik Shadow Hawk. The Battlemaster shuddered briefly as the Colonel unleashed another blistering fusillade of high energy explosive death.

The Donal PPC slammed into the damaged right arm of the 'Hawk vaporizing it instantaneously, leaving only a sparking and smoking stump on its right shoulder. Five of the six Martells bored holes all over the 'Hawk, one of them burning through the armor of its left leg and boiling away more of the structure underneath. Four of the SRMs continued rocking the 'Hawk, blasting even more armor off its chest and further weakening the structure supporting its left leg.

To his credit, the Marik pilot managed to keep his feet throughout the punishing barrage, but the Colonel was already shifting his Battlemech around towards its left side. As the 'Hawk straightened back up, its torso tracked to the left, the immense form of the Battlemaster towered over him, filling his entire viewscreen. He fired what weapons he had left, but the Battlemaster's huge left arm had already gripped the barrel of the torso mounted J11 bending it away. Two SRMs exploded against its chest, but the armored giant didn't even register the hit.

The thick heavily armored leg of the Battlemaster swept the weakened left leg of the 55-ton 'Mech right out from under it, mangling the limb beyond repair in the process and sending the 'Hawk crashing brutally to the ground now missing two limbs.

The Colonel didn't skip a step. "Shadow Hawk neutralized. Engaging primary target."

-

Fourteen heavily armed marines came racing around the corner of the storage warehouse. As they did so, first platoon dropped to their knees, bracing their shoulder mount SRMs as they did so. Third platoon pulled up immediately behind them, readying their SRMs as well, except remaining standing.

Dawg continued issuing orders, "Target right leg. Fire!" Fourteen missiles streaked forth simultaneously towards the already partially disarmed Marik Urbanmech. Warheads exploded all up and down the right leg of the 30-ton 'Mech, sending hot armor fragments flying, and stripping the last of the armor from the leg.

Dawg continued barking orders into his headset, "Drop launchers! Swarm right leg!" The Marik pilot, started wheeling backwards, firing his remaining small laser at the approaching infantry. Dawg saw one of his men vaporized as they rushed headlong towards the war machine.

This was as intense as it got. And what the Colonel has promised him. Adrenaline flooded his system as he and his men launched themselves onto the slow moving 'Mechs leg. "Set satchel charges, 15 seconds! Then clear!"

He slapped his own pentaglycerin charge directly against a section of exposed internal structure, then dropped fifteen feet, hitting the ground and rolling away, his men doing much the same all around him.

"CLEAR!" The Urbanmech's leg exploded as the charges planted directly on it blossomed. "Rally on me! Machine guns, standy! Keep on the right leg."

The smoke from the charges partly obscured the scene, as the Urbanmech struggled to remain standing. Its right foot had been blow off, causing it to teeter unsteadily on its left leg. It fired wildly with its small laser, a lucky shot catching another of Dawg's marines, killing him instantly.

"Fire!" A dozen machine guns opened fire on the mangled right leg, multiple streams of slugs eating away at the last remaining structure. With a horrific groan, the leg collapsed under the concentrated fire, spilling the 30-ton Urbanmech to the ground. The ground shook as it landed heavily on its right side, crushing what little remained of the stubby right arm Weddle had damaged earlier.

"Two, status!" Dawg called out, his platoon leader responding immediately.

"Charges all set. Heading out of the breach now. Minor resistance, one wounded, ready to blow the building in ten. Clear the area! Standby in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1."

Another huge explosion ripped through the night, a pillar of flame illuminating the sky as the storage warehouse went up in an enormous fireball, destroying the valuable 'Mech targeting and tracking systems it contained.

"This is Dawg. Target destroyed. Urbanmech disabled. Over."

He flipped back over to his platoon frequency. "Recover launchers, and jump packs, rally on me. There's still a bit of fun to have had, lads." He laughed, then turned to recover his gear.

-

"What the hell do you mean, seasonal!?" Captain Varuka Salt screamed at Sanchez on the bridge of Shadowfax.

"It's a nice long, flat, straight river bed, Captain! Looks like a possible LZ! It's the closest thing I got!"

Salt bellowed, "Well, what the Ursurper is the season, Sanchez!"

"I have no idea, Captain! I'm not from around here! Looks clear on thermal."

"You want me to land this bitch in the middle of a ****** river, Sanchez! Seasonal!" She continued fighting furiously with the control stick. "Spanner, I need more juice from the port engine and thrusters NOW!"

She briefly turned, spearing Sanchez with an evil eye. "Find me something else, Sanchez, or I'll throw you right off this ****** bird, and then you can tell me what blessed season it is!"

Sanchez frantically searched the topographical data from the satellite as Shadowfax continued bucking. "I've got a secondary roadway you could try, Captain! I don't see anything else even close!"

"Send the coordinates! So help me, Kerensky, if your wrong about this, Sanchez, I'll kill you myself if the landing doesn't wipe us all out first!"

"Deploying flaps and gear! Buckle up, it's gonna be one helluva bumpy ride!" She sent Shadowfax arcing west towards the roadway. "Colonel! Transmitting the LZ coordinates now. Don't blame me if there's just a smoking crater when you get there, you promised those turrets would be down!"

The Colonel's cool voice came back at her over the com. "Settle down, Captain Salt. The boys and I need to catch ride with you back off this planet. I'm sure you won't disappoint us. Coordinates received. Good luck, and try not to damage my equipment. Your paycheck won't even come close to covering it. Over."

The epithets spewing from Captain Salt's mouth made even the grizzled veterans on the bridge blush.

Salt continued muscling the control stick, forcing Shadowfax to straighten out above a roadway she could barely even see. "Landing thrusters full! Gear engaged! Damage control teams standby! Brace for impact!"

"What the hell is this, Sanchez, a ****** logging road!?"

The 1,700 ton spacecraft hit the ground with a bone jarring impact, the screeching of metal was audible even on the bridge. Red warning indicators flared to life as the crew felt the tail swing out of line.

Captain Salt had a death grip on the armrests of her command couch as Shadowfax finally ground to a halt. "Damage control teams! Report," she screamed the second the craft stopped moving.

Spanner gravelly voice came over the com instantly. "Starboard thrusters damaged, but the V84s OK. Port weapons bay offline, port 'Mech bay door damaged, landing gears pretty well trashed. Avionics OK. Other than that, she's like brand new. Next time, let me handing the landing. I'm getting to old for all this extra work!"

Salt turned to Captain McMillian. "Unload those whirly birds and get them in air! We're a sitting duck out here! We've got no defenses on the port side! Assign any spare men you have to the damage control teams! She's gonna need a bit love to before we can get her back in the air again.

She hit the release on her four point harness, and raced below to help.

-

Chapter 11

Carbonis  
Free Worlds League  
3042

Leutnant Jeff Hamilton swung his Shadow Hawk around, heading southwest to link up with Weddle's Griffin as the Colonel and Corporal Southers headed towards the main IMB assembly plant.

"Hey, Weddle, you care what we scrap first? I was thinking about taking out that lead Cicada, then dropping the Wasp."

Weddle chuckled as Hamilton pulled up next to him. "Take care of the trash first, huh? No problem. I'll drop my Delta Dart on that Cicada, and if there's anything left you can clean it up. Follow me into those trees over there, and we'll say hello."

The two 69th Expeditionary Force 'Mechs headed off together, disappearing into a small grove of trees moments later.

Weddle watched as the lance of Marik 'Mechs swiftly approached. The Cicada was a good 150 meters ahead of his comrades, the Phoenix Hawk and Wasp positioned in the center, with the Quickdraw bringing up the rear.

As the Cicada crossed 600 meters, fifteen long range missiles erupted from the forest, spiraling down towards the 40-ton 'Mech. Nine of them exploded against its chest and left torso, as the pilot began evasive maneuvers, seeking cover of its own. With only short ranged weaponry, there was nothing it could do until it closed to within about 250 meters.

And close it did. With a top speed of 130 kph, it relied primarily on its speed for protection as it dodged around the scattered trees, working its way ever closer. As it made it within 450 meters, Weddle and Hamilton both opened up on it with their heavy lasers. Weddle's flew wide, thrown off by the Cicada's erratic movements, but Hamilton's stripped the armor from its right leg, hitting the structure but unfortunately none of the actuators.

In the darkness, Hamilton saw what could only be the Quickdraw's LRM 10-rack lift off, followed by the Phoenix Hawk's Harmon heavy. Missiles exploded all around the trees they were both concealed in missing them both, but the Harmon melted a half of ton of armor off his center.

"Change of plans, Weddle! I'm taking down that Phoenix Hawk! You clean up the trash!"

Hamilton's 'Hawk surged out of the woods, breaking into a loping run as he rushed the Marik lance. Weddle stayed back in the trees, targeting the Cicada once again. "He's all yours, Hamilton." Another flight of fifteen LRM's followed by his Sunglow slammed into the nimble 40-ton 'Mech. The Sunglow burned entirely through its left arm, destroying everything in it, as the LRM clustered on the right side, further shredding its leg, and destroying the already useless arm. It skipped a step as one the missiles destroyed it lower leg actuator, but the pilot recovered quickly. Damn that little bastard just didn't want to go down!

As Hamilton broke from his cover, he alpha striked the Phoenix Hawk, aiming his trio of lasers down at its legs. Armor melted like butter off both the Phoenix Hawk's legs, as all four SRMs struck along its top half. But he'd didn't have the firepower of the Colonel's assault 'Mech, and the 'Hawk came through his barrage fully functional.

Then all four Marik 'Mechs were all over him. The Phoenix Hawk drilled his left leg with both its heavy and medium Harmon lasers, the third missing. The Cicada also aimed low, stripping even more armor off his legs with its matched medium Magnas, and the Wasp contributed its Bical twin rack. One of the Quickdraw 's Omicrons scorched his right arm, as the other missed high, three of the Hovertec Quad missiles exploding against his chest. Another round like that, and his left leg would be severely damaged if not destroyed entirely!

He fired his Pitban LFT-50's, sending his 'Mech sailing backwards into the trees. One of the changes he'd made to the stock 2H version was giving it a full 150-meter jump capacity. Something he was thanking himself for right now, as he landed back in the heavy cover.

Weddle kept his reticle center on the Cicada as it juked back and forth. His Sunglow drilled it dead center, evaporating the remaining armor, and sending coolant pouring out of its chest as he damaged the housing of the fusion engine. One of his medium lasers hit the exposed right leg, destroying it completely, as the other savaged its left torso destroying one of its two Magna.

It managed to get off one last strike at Hamilton's Shadow Hawk as it furrowed into the ground ripping off its stubby right arm in the process. Only one of its three lasers managed to hit the air born 'Mech, however, but it was against the 'Hawk left leg, the last remaining armor disappearing in a cloud of vapor and burrowing into the structure.

Hamilton snapped off another full salvo at the Phoenix Hawk as it followed him into the woods. The temperature spiked in the cockpit as his fifteen single heat sinks failed to dissipate the combination of weapons fire and jump jets. His heavy laser evaporated armor from the right torso, as the matched mediums both pierced the other side. Two of the SRMs exploded, one against its head, the other another hit on the left torso, but he'd failed to stop the Phoenix Hawk. Thankfully, his jump has thrown off its aim, as only the Harmon heavy hit him this time, the armor of his left torso absorbing the shot.

Ten LRMs from the Marik Quickdraw corkscrewed in the woods, eight of them exploding against Weddle's Griffin, five against his chest, the other three on his untouched left leg. It tried to follow up with its dual Omicrons, but the long range caused both shots to land short. A pair of SRMs from the Hovertec Quad managed to hit, one of them sending the last of his left torso armor smoking to the ground, as the other hit his right leg.

Then the Wasp appeared on long jets of flame, sailing over both of their heads, then dropping in immediately behind and to the left of Hamilton's Shadow Hawk. Both of its weapons missed, but that wasn't its plan in any case. The 20-ton 'Mech viciously kicked the Shadow Hawk's exposed left leg, blue sparks flying from the now severely damaged limb as at least one of the actuators failed.

Hamilton's voice broke over the command net. "Severe damage left leg, upper leg actuator destroyed. One more solid hit, and its gone! I'm pulling back."

The 'Hawk rocketed backwards yet again trying to open the distance back up, as the Colonel's voice came over the com. "Southers, get back there and cover Hamilton! Dawg, get your men ready! Hamilton, pull back towards the warehouse so the infantry can support you! I can take this factory solo."

Weddle held his ground, hoping the remaining Marik 'Mechs would choose to engage him, but both the Phoenix Hawk and the Wasp rocketed past him, leaving only the Quickdraw in his forward firing arc. Screw it, he thought to himself, as he whipped his 'Mech into an abrupt about face, exposing his thin rear armor to the Quickdraw as he drew a bead on the Wasp.

His Sunglow hit the Wasp in the right arm, obliterating the limb with a single shot. The Delta Dart flew true as well, clustering against the rear right torso, destroying another entire section of the light 'Mech. But it wasn't enough to bring it down. It had lost half of its weapons, but it still remained a threat. He fired both of mediums as well, but the range was now too great, both shots flying harmlessly by.

Now the Quickdraw was on him, but luck was still with him. Only one of the Omicrons hit his vulnerable rear, eliminating all of the armor on his right rear, but it had done its job, and just barely prevented the laser from breaching. Then his 'Mech suddenly lurched forward as the 60-ton Marik 'Mech struck his left leg from behind, buckling armor plates and sending him stumbling. A quick glance at the wire diagram gave him the grim news. Right arm, left torso, left leg, all in the red.

-

The ground trembled as the Colonel brought his Battlemaster into a full run. He unleashed the stunning power of the assault 'Mech, concentrating it on a section of the factory wall. As chunks exploded from the hardened structure, he lowered his left shoulder and rammed the wall with a feral intensity at full speed. The entire wall buckled inwards, the ragged edges ripping away sections of his torso armor as he bulled his way into the interior of the factory.

Sigil was screaming from the back again. "Fusion engine detected! There are 'Mechs in here!" He feverishly examined the low light imagers of the Hartford XKZ 1. "Usurper!" he swore. "That's a ****** 85-ton LGB-OW Longbow! Hermes, Flea and Thunderbolt too!" He stabbed up the magnification.

"Kerensky!" Without thinking, he punched the control override. The Battlemaster stuttered as Sigil suddenly took over control of the 'Mech. Still at a dead run, he sent all six medium lasers and the SRM rack at the still stationary Longbow. With both arms outstretched in front on him, he gave the enemy assault 'Mech a ferocious shove, sending it toppling over. The behemoth crashed into the 20-ton Flea parked next to it, and both 'Mechs went down hard in a tangled heap.

The Colonel roared like a wounded lion, his voice vibrating the entire cockpit of the Battlemaster with its savage intensity. "SIGIL! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU DOING, PRIVATE! IF YOU DON'T RETURN CONTROL OF THIS MECH TO ME THIS ****** INSTANT I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS SO HARD YOU'LL HAVE TO UNBUTTON YOUR COLLAR TO SHIT!"

Then the Thunderbolt turned, targeting them.

Chapter 12

Carbonis  
Free Worlds League  
3042

Hamilton grimaced. It was going to take a miracle to save his ride now. He landed a good 150 meters away as he jumped backwards towards the burning warehouse and Dawg's jump infantry. But both the Wasp and the Phoenix Hawk had him beat not only on speed, but also on jump capacity. It was race he knew he'd lost even before he started.

As he landed, he tried to shield his savaged left leg, but the Marik 'Mechs had him bracketed on either side. Their plan was simple. One or the other was going to put an armored foot into his left leg. It was what he would have done too. It was possible he could survive a kick from the Wasp, but no way it would hold against the 45-ton Phoenix Hawk.

He drew a bead on the 'Hawk as it charged, if only he could drop it before it managed to swing around his left side. He braced himself for the heat, he was already running hot, and the combination of his jump and the alpha strike would be crippling, but he had no other choice. His trio of lasers struck true. The heavy laser evaporating the remaining armor on the left arm, then one of the mediums tore into the structure. Sparks flew from the shoulder as the arm dropped suddenly down, the actuator destroyed as well as the housing for one its Harmon mediums. His Hovertec spiraled past harmlessly.

The shutdown warning started screaming as he slammed the override, forcing the 'Mech to stay functional even as the heat spiked past safe levels. As the Phoenix Hawk shot past him, it drilled his Shadow Hawk straight in the chest with both its heavy and medium laser, sending armor streaming down, and leaving a scant quarter ton protecting his delicate gyro and Core Tek 275 fusion engine. The damaged Wasp sent one of its SRMs exploding against his right leg, but he ignored the light 'Mech.

In a last ditch attempt to stop the Phoenix Hawk, he struck out with his left arm, connecting with the Phoenix Hawk's right arm. Armor plates buckled, but its arm held. He had failed to stop it.

It returned his blow with a well-executed kick against his left leg. With a horrible rending of metal, the left leg collapsed, sending his 'Hawk crashing to the ground, where the Wasp gleefully kicked his remaining leg.

He was preparing for the inevitable, as he rolled the 'Hawk over to face his fate, when the Phoenix Hawk's right arm was suddenly wrenched off by a huge autocannon slug. The Marik 'Mech jerked its head back up, as its main weapon was destroyed, looking for its source. Corporal Souther's Hatchetman had managed to get within range with his Defiance Disintegrator. Off to his right, the Wasp was abruptly covered in missile explosions as the jump infantry fired on it, causing it too to shift its attention away from the downed Shadow Hawk.

Lt. Weddle raced towards his fallen comrade, the Quickdraw in hot pursuit, whipping around at the last second, to bring his weapons to bear. The Sunglow hit center mass, but the 60-ton 'Mech's armor weathered the loss. The Quickdraw's right arm and left torso absorbed his matched medium lasers with little difficulty as well.

The same couldn't be said for his Griffin, however, as a pair of the Omicrons decimated his right arm, destroying it along with his Sunglow heavy laser. A pair of SRMs from the Quickdraw's Hovertec detonated against his right leg, leaving it almost bare, as a third exploded against his chest.

Both the Phoenix Hawk and Wasp leaped back and away, lighting the night with streaks of flames as they moved to let the Quickdraw take point on the attack. Weddle positioned himself in front of Hamilton's downed Shadow Hawk, preparing to trade another volley with the Quickdraw, as Souther's Hatchetman struggled to close the range further.

Weddle sent his two mediums lasers against the 60-ton 'Mech, failing again to do any significant damage. Usurper! Since when had the Quickdraw been considered a tough kill! Another round of SRMs flew from the shoulders of Dawg's infantry, also targeting the sturdy 'Mech. Missiles exploded up and down its left side and center torso, leaving it dangerously thin, but again no critical damage. Weddle triggered the Delta Dart next, sending LRMs arcing down towards the backpedaling Phoenix Hawk. All fifteen missiles exploded across the front of it, but again he failed to breach anything.

The Quickdraw responded. One of its Omicrons cored into his right leg sending alarm klaxons blaring through the cockpit. His 'Mech staggered as its lower leg actuator went offline. The alarms keep coming as the second Omicron burned through his left torso, damaging the structure, but thankfully missing the ammunition storage bins of the Delta Dart. Only one of its four SRMs hit, but it still all but destroyed the little armor remaining on his left leg. The Wasp continued to fire its Bical twin rack, one them hitting his center torso. The alarms continued as the Phoenix Hawk's sole remaining Harmon laser ate away at the hole created by the Bical. Both of his legs were internal!

Lt. Hamilton came over the comlink. "Hey Weddle, stop playing to the hero, dammit, or your gonna end up crippled like my 'Hawk! Fall the hell back already and let the Corporal take the action!"

Reluctantly, Weddle leapt back again, leaving the downed Shadow Hawk wide open to enemy attack, but Corporal Southers was there to charge into the breach. Chambering a cluster round for his Defiance Disintegrator, there was a thunderous roar as he leveled it at the Marik Quickdraw. Cluster munitions exploded all over the Quickdraw, shredding almost all of its remaining armor. Its right arm dropped to the ground as the explosions destroyed its already heavily damaged right torso. One of his B3M mediums drilled into its left torso as the other flew high.

Then he buried the trademark hatchet into the Quickdraw's left torso, cleaving deeply into the structure. The Quickdraw reeled back from the furious assault, most of its weapon systems now destroyed or without ammunition. Now it was the Quickdraw's turn to start backpedaling. It fired its sole remaining Omicron at the Hatchetman, hitting the hatchet bearing right arm, but Southers still had enough armor left to absorb the blow. It's LRM-10 arced over the Hatchetman, exploding harmlessly near Weddle's Griffin. The Phoenix Hawk added it's remaining Harmon, melting armor from the Hatchetman's other arm, scorching the structure, but failing to damage any of the actuators, as the Wasp's Bical twin-rack flew wide.

Southers pulled up in front of Hamilton, as the three damaged Marik 'Mechs began to retreat. Weddle fired his Delta Dart one last time at the withdrawing Quickdraw. Nine of his missiles slammed along its left side, two hitting its shoulder turning its remaining arm into smoking wreckage. Then another deadly shotgun blast sounded from the Hatchetman. This time the effect was devastating. Practically stripped of armor, the cluster rounds exploded time and again directly against the sensitive internal structure. As the smoke cleared, the Quickdraw toppled stiffly to the ground, its gyro destroyed. The two remaining Marik 'Mechs fled into the surrounding forest.

Weddle's voice broke over the communication net. "Let 'em go. They're finished. Southers, help me get Hamilton back onto his feet, and lets get him over towards the factory. Nice shot, by the way."

-

The Hartford Co XKZ-1's missile lock indicator sounded a fraction of a second before the Battlemaster was rocked by a full broadside from the charging Marik Thunderbolt. Its Sunglow large laser hit the heavily armored left leg, as it's trio of Diverse Optics Type 18s scored hits on the left arm, and side torsos. Both SRMs from its Bical hit as well, the missiles exploding against the right arm and center torso. Matched Voelkers machine guns chattered away, echoing off the cavernous walls of the factory interior as they continued to chip away armor from his chest.

Sigil still had the control override engaged, as the Battlemaster shuddered under the assault. His eyes were drawn to the XKZ-1 as another target abruptly appeared on the sensor display immediately behind the charging Thunderbolt.

"By Kerensky! A 1S Hermes! That's vintage Star League 'tech! The fastest 'Mech ever built! Uses the Alexis Photon Target Acquisition System! I've only read about them, I've never had a chance to see one before!"

The Colonel's Battlemaster veered swiftly to the right, and accelerated, as Sigil sought to bring the fast 30-ton scout 'Mech into his line of sight.

The Colonel's rage was palpable. "SIGIL! I SWEAR TO KERENSKY I'M GOING TO RELEASE MY HARNESS AND PUT MY FIST STRAIGHT THROUGH YOUR ****** NEUROHELMET IF YOU DON'T RELINQUISH CONTROL OF THIS 'MECH IMMEDIATELY, SOLDIER!"

"I'm just going to disable it, Colonel! I just need one shot! I can't let it get away!"

The Battlemaster was rocked again as the Thunderbolt continued to pour fire onto the assault 'Mech. The Sunglow evaporated another half ton of armor from the left leg, as a pair of mediums sent armor pouring down the right torso, the third searing the right arm. The Voelkers and one of the SRMs damaged his arms, but the sudden change of direction caused the 'Bolt's kick to miss. The Marik pilot quickly recovered and turned continuing to target the huge war machine.

Sigil fired the Donal first, the azure bolt streaking straight towards the Hermes chest, completely eviscerating the armor and already into the supporting structure underneath. The Holly 6 rack was next. Three missiles exploded on either side of the hole in its chest, but not yet penetrating its thin armor. Damn it, Sigil winced. He didn't actually want to destroy it. Gritting his teeth, he sent a sextet of Martell mediums at the fleet 'Mech. The left arm simply disappeared under the concentrated laser fire, as the entire top half of the 'Mech was stripped clean of armor, and the central structure of the 'Mech was damaged even further. Still it held together. "By the Usurper! It's getting away!"

Unexpectedly, a frothing, raging beast appeared blocking out his view of the HUD, followed by a clenched fist speeding unerringly towards his head. The Colonel's fist connected with Sigil's face directly between the eyes. Sigil's head snapped back violently as the Colonel brutally vented his pent up rage on him, knocking him unconscious.

With no one left piloting the Battlemaster, it swayed unsteadily on its feet, then fell crashing to the ferrocrete floor, as the Colonel braced himself as best he could for the impact.

-

Captain Salt was directing the damage control team swarming over Shawdowfax's left wing. "Sanchez, double check each strut! Fernal, go over the leading edge, make damn sure there aren't ANY holes in the heat shielding. Danny, check the control surfaces. Everyone else, get down there on those landing rails."

She activated the comlink in her earpiece. "Spanner! What's the word on the port thrusters?"

Spanner's gruff voice responded. "The control circuitry is all fried! I can jury-rig it, turn it on or off, but that's about it. It's all or nothing! I know how you like it rough, but, really, you gotta' learn some control!"

Salt fired back. "Just tell me, can I get her back off the ground!?"

Spanner grumbled, "Not if your gonna be as ham handed as you were bringin' her down, darlin'."

Captain Salt gritted her teeth. Her landing hadn't been exactly stellar. Truthfully, she'd done a poor job of bringing the wounded DropShip down. She could admit that to herself, and in any case, Spanner already knew.

She jumped to the ground, hearing the hydraulic hiss of aft craft bay doors opening. Captain McMillian would be unloading the Ripper and Nightshade VTOLs. She walked along the port side examining the landing rails as she went. Yeah, she'd tore up Shadowfax pretty good. She'd have to nail the takeoff, otherwise the ship would start canting almost immediately, and without the ability to control the output of the port thrusters, it might prove impossible to recover.

She continued silently berating herself.

-

The Thunderbolt wasted no time in planting a brutal kick to the Colonel's prone Battlemaster. Luckily, the undamaged right leg of the assault 'Mech was able to absorb the blow without serious damage.

Colonel Jason Henley threw himself back into his command couch, pulling his neurohelmet down as his 'Mech shuddered under the physical attack. The Thunderbolt unleashed another full volley of fire. A half ton of armor from his chest was melted away by the Sunglow, as the Type 18s etched his right arm and left leg, followed by the twin Voelkers machine guns. Then one of the SRMs from the Bical exploded directly against his head, sending him once again crashing cruelly around the confines of the cockpit.

His vision blurred, then dimmed, as he began to slip into unconsciousness. Slapping the stimpack hugging his thigh, he sent a flood of synthetic adrenaline through his system. Alarm klaxons sounded in the cockpit, forcing him back to attention, as the Thunderbolt put its foot through the right torso, breaching the armor.

Disengaging the Donal PPC held in his right arm, he reached out with both hands, grabbing the Thunderbolt's ankle as it withdrew from its kick. He could hear the myomer and actuators groaning under the strain as he pulled on the 'Bolt's foot. The Marik pilot struggled valiantly to shake his hold, but the assault 'Mechs grip was too tight. Slowly at first it began to topple backwards, then the pilot lost control completely, and the 65-ton 'Mech fell with a massive crash to the ferrocrete floor, it's left arm taking the brunt of the fall.

Was he hearing voices? He shook his head, still vaguely disoriented by the fall and the missile strike. He levered his 85-ton machine up on its arms and knees, then clambered crab-like on top of the fallen Thunderbolt. He slugged it with both battlefists. The first punching its chest with the force of a particle cannon, the second clanging of its offset, recessed head, leaving it dangerously exposed.

Then both 'Mechs vented their tremendous firepower against each other. The T-Bolt's heavy laser drilled into his left torso, as the mediums struck his chest and left arm. But the third hit his already damaged head, the armor just managing to prevent a catastrophic breach. The Voelkers chattered away, pock marking his left arm, then the cockpit with filled a horrific rattling as a stream of slugs found its way across his viewport. The canopy cracked and spidered as a pair of SRMs exploded against him. But everything seemed far away and distant as he triggered his own alpha strike. Six Martells and his Holly six rack gored into the Thunderbolt trapped beneath him.

The Colonel never saw what happened next. When the smoke cleared, the Battlemaster was hunched overtop the now headless Thunderbolt.

Weddle was screaming into the comlink. In fact, he'd already been screaming for the past twenty seconds. "Colonel! Sigil! Colonel! Sigil! Someone respond goddamit! Anyone!"

After what seemed an eternity, a groggy voice finally answered. "Huh? Whaa…. Stop screaming, would ya!?" Sigil shook his head, his neurohelmet was cracked, and he was hanging awkwardly from his five-point harness looking at the Colonel's slumped form in front of him. Blood was still trickling from his nose, and his entire chest was slick with it. The cockpit was in shambles as he finally became aware of the alarms. Life support and the sensors had both been damaged. The head and the right torso were breached. And the Colonel, well, he didn't look so good.

"I uhh… need medical. I mean, the Colonel. He looks in a bad way. Unconscious I mean. Uh… where are we again?" He tried to collect his scattered thoughts, but they blew away like leaves on a windy autumn day. Then he started looking around frantically. "Kerensky! Did anyone see that 1S Hermes!? I swear it was here a second ago…" He paused trying to think again.

"Oh, and ya, I almost forget. Hey Hamilton, I scored you a new ride. There's an LGB-OW Longbow back there with your name on it!"

Weddle's anxious voice interrupted. "What the hell are you talking about, Sigil!?"

"You know, an 85-ton assault 'Mech, dual Holly LRM-20s, matched Delta Dart 5s, and a pair of medium lasers. I think StarCorps Industries made it for the SLDF in the day. Too slow for my taste, though."

Weddle barked over the comlink. "The COLONEL! CHECK THE COLONEL YOU IDIOT!"

The damaged canopy suddenly hissed and popped open as a new voice entered the conversation. "Private Sigil, get out of my 'Mech. And never, EVER, come back."

"Oh… nevermind. I think the Colonel's Ok. Uhh... guys? Can I catch a ride home with one of you?" Sigil released his harness.

-

Chapter 13

Carbonis  
3042  
Free Worlds League

It felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to his head, the pounding was that intense. Colonel Jason Henley flipped the comlink on. "All units return to the LZ. Captain McMillian, retrieve the infantry. Captain Salt, I want Shadowfax ready to launch when we arrive." He levered his battered Battlemaster back to its feet, retrieving his PPC as he did so. The image enhancers were cutting off and on and the satellite link had gone offline.

He knew the 9th was preparing to dispatch additional forces if they hadn't done so already. Sigil had reported multiple electromagnetic and thermal sources a dozen or so klicks out. It was definitely time to go.

Weddle voice crackled over his speakers. "Colonel, what do you want us to do about Hamilton's Shadow Hawk. One of its legs is destroyed. There's also a salvageable Quickdraw and that Thunderbolt you took out."

Then a familiar voice interrupted them. "Uh… guys? I just cracked the security on the Longbow. It's only got light damage. It's slow, but I bet it could beat Hamilton's one-legged 'Mech in a race any day. It's pretty nice. You know it's got an Octagon Tartrac C, exact same targeting system that's in your Griffin, Weddle?"

The Colonel rolled his eyes. What he wouldn't give for a moments peace right about now. He was tempted to squelch Sigil. He managed to get him out of his cockpit, but somehow he still couldn't escape his voice.

"Have Hamilton pilot the Longbow. We'll take that and call it even. Leave the salvage. It's time to go."

He piloted his 'Mech back out through the hole in the side of the factory he'd created earlier. Hamilton's Shadow Hawk was sitting down, leaning against the wall like a wounded solider waiting for the medics to arrive. Weddle's Griffin and Souther's Hatchetman stood like sentinels on either side. The damage on them both was obvious. He frowned.

Moments later, the 85-ton Longbow emerged. "Lets move. Lt. Hamilton, once you're in optimal range, bring down the factory roof. Target the eastern side, it's already damaged from the strafing run. Six salvos max."

The four battered 69th 'Mechs moved out, pausing briefly as Hamilton turned to rain down fire on the factory. The 85-ton assault 'Mech shuttered as it launched awe-inspiring salvos of fifty LRMs one after another. The roof of the factory was obscured by the deluge of missiles, but when the smoke cleared it had clearly collapsed.

"McMillian here. Play times over boys. Pop the smoke."

A pair of armored VTOLs landed, silhouetted by the burning wreckage of the IMB industrial facility. The Colonel watched as the infantry sprinted towards the two craft, their rotors still spinning, disappearing into the belly of the beasts. Then they levitated up and disappeared back into the night sky as quickly as they came.

-

"Prepare for takeoff! Secure all personnel and equipment! It's going be one helluva bumpy ride." Captain Salt was back in the pilot's chair. What field repairs that could be hastily accomplished had been done. The port weapons bays and one of the 'Mech bay doors were still inoperable. The landing rails had been patched as best they could, but it was the port thrusters that consumed her mind.

"Spanner, standby on the port thrusters, on my mark, take 'em full."

She took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. The Colonel looked like hell warmed over, but he'd insisted on being on the bridge for the takeoff. He should have been in medical, if he had any sense. Still, at least he was silent, but she could feel his eyes boring into her, assessing her, even if she couldn't see them.

"Take port thrusters full in 3… 2… 1…" She threw the throttle wide open on the V84, giving Shadowfax everything there was in one sudden absolute shot, gambling to get off the ground as quickly as possible.

The huge spacecraft shuddered under the stress as it rumbling forward, seeking flight. She was pulling back so hard on the control stick, for a moment she was afraid she'd bent it. Tentatively, Shadowfax lifted off the ground.

"Spanner! I need more thrust!"

"By Amaris himself! You've already got it pegged, darlin'. What'd you want me to do, get out and push!?"

Shadowfax continued to lift, put she kept wanting to pull to the left. Salt found herself cheating the stick further and further to the right to compensate.

"Dammit, Spanner! What the hell is going on with the port thruster!? She's pulling left hard! Port flaps full! I need more ****** thrust!"

"There isn't any more blessed thrust! Cut back on the starboard ones, if you gotta. I got both hands full trying to keep the port thruster from cutting out completely!"

The flaps were helping level the ponderous craft out, but the drag they created was preventing her from gaining the speed she wanted, not to mention the added turbulence. At least it was a calm clear night, thank her lucky stars for that.

"Spanner, I'm kicking on the auxiliary emergency engines! Keep on that thruster, I don't care how you do it, just get more out of it!"

The entire craft was vibrating and shaking. This was the moment. Either she'd stall and auger in and it was game over, or she'd give her the little bit of extra speed and altitude she so desperately needed.

Spanner knew the situation was critical, quickly approaching terminal. It was a you-can-do-this-but-you-never-should moment. He raced over to the engineering console for the V84 interplanetary drive. Punching up the containment field status, he starting siphoning energy away from its power feed. The effect was two-fold. Weakening the containment field allowed the fusion reaction to grow stronger by both increasing the size of the plasma ring as well as the amount of the plasma itself. The danger, of course, is that you would be unable to reestablish the containment ring, or it would fail entirely.

Then there was also the matter of the additional pressure and strain on all the systems downstream of the engine. They would all be operating outside of their design tolerances, and any single failure could potentially fatally cripple the entire ship. The number of things that could go wrong was only outnumbered by the ways in which they could all die.

"Varruka, here ya go sweety! Careful what you ask for, and all that!" He increased the siphon. Red warning lights and alarms began to fill the engine room. Engine output crested past 105%. He threw the override as the output climbed to 110%.

"Bless that foul mouthed obnoxious dwarf, it's almost enough to make me want to kiss him…" Captain Salt muttered to herself. Shadowfax straightened out and began picking up both speed and altitude. "Retracting port flaps." The ride only became marginally smoother, but she was at least starting to act like a spacecraft now.

Spanner broke into her brief personal celebration. "Sorry, baby, that's all you get! And don't come back asking for more!"

In the engine room, Spanner was swiftly trying to bring the magnetic confinement ring back down to safe size. The entire ship went dark as he rerouted power from life support, weapons, and all other non-essential systems to the ring feed.

Slowly the output dropped 107%... 105%... 103%... 100%. He mopped his brow with a rag from his back pocket. He was getting to old for this shit.

-

Epilogue  
In transit to Galatea  
3042

The Colonel had just returned to Shadowfax after meeting with the AFFS liaison officer aboard the Davion JumpShip. The liaison officer had congratulated him on his unit's performance and had told him straight out that he was going to recommend the 69th be awarded the full 5,000,000 C-bill bonus. The battle holovids had been proof enough that warehouse, power generators, and the factory itself had all sustained heavy damage. It would likely be a year, at the earliest, before IBM systems could again produce anything at the factory site. Looks like there was going to be shortage of targeting and tracking systems in the Free Worlds League, he chuckled to himself.

Now he was taking advantage of the transit time back to Galatea to complete his personnel evaluations. Captain Salt had proved herself up to the task. She conducted a successful combat drop and strafing run against the factory. The four flights of LRMs that struck Shadowfax's port wing had dispelled any lingering doubts he'd had about her piloting ability, not to mention her crew's job of getting Shadowfax back into the air and offplanet. Her engineer had the Midas touch with the drive system. He suspected it had been a bit more touch and go then she had let on.

Dawg's anti-mech jump infantry had stepped up as well. They'd blown the warehouse, finished off the Marik Urbanmech and then turned around and engaged the Wasp as well. There were losses of course, there always was among the ground pounders. Still, a 20% mortality rate was actually pretty good for infantry. He frowned. Mortality rate. Another military euphuism for people who'd never see their families again, or their sons or daughters. For lives gone, and others shattered. Of course, he'd do what he could to ease their pain, but in the end it could never be enough.

The senselessness of war. He allowed himself a few moments to consider it, to face its stark reality. There had been others killed as well. Factory workers, security guards, likely, they all weren't combatants. Collateral damage. The military was filled with nice phrases to describe the atrocities committed in the name of war.

Civilized warfare. Embodied by the Ares Conventions of 2412. What had they really accomplished but to formalize the conduct of war. Perhaps even encourage it. He shook his head. Down that path lies madness. He forced himself back to the task at hand.

Captain McMillian. He still knew next to nothing about the grizzled man's past. Except that he'd received extensive special operations training, and was one helluva a VTOL pilot. His squad had assisted the damage control team in field repairing Shadowfax, and had also handled the extraction of Dawg's infantry from the battlefield with their VTOLs. A solid performance.

Leutnant Hamilton had once again proved to be a rock of reliability. He'd stayed on target even as the Quickdraw had broadsided him, never waivering from the power generators even as he took heavy fire. Followed orders, no questions asked. He couldn't ask for anything more from a solider under his command. The loss of his Shadowhawk had been unfortunate, but ultimately between the capture of the enemy Longbow, and the bonus for destroying the factory, the mission had been a solid financial success. The Leutnant would be getting a new ride, and the Colonel was inclined to be generous with his options.

Corporal Southers had been blooded. A fresh recruit out of the prestigious Sanglamore acadecy, his own alma-mater, Southers hadn't yet seen the beast. But he had now. You never know how a man is going to handle the stress of life and death combat until they face it down on a live battlefield. All the training, drills, simulations, they can only prepare you so much. But the Corporal had found what he had needed to within himself. He could already see how the experience had changed the young man. He carried himself with a bit more confidence, and a little less naivety.

Leutnant Weddle had bought him the time, though. The Corporal had faltered right at the start of the engagement. The immediate and intense stress of combat had momentarily stunned him. Weddle had taken the heat off him, giving him the precious seconds he needed to allow the training to kick in. Then there was the loss of the Shadow Hawk's leg. Weddle had placed himself directly in front of Hamilton's downed 'Mech, shielding him enemy fire with his own damaged Griffin. Twice Leutnant Weddle had shown the highest regard for the lives of the men he served alongside. The Colonel nodded approvingly. He had the potential to become an excellent Executive Officer. He made special note of that in the Leutnant's personnel file.

That finally brought him to the evaluation he'd been doing his best to avoid. Sigil. Anger briefly flared to life once again within him as he recalled how Sigil had taken over command of his Battlemaster, then refused to relinquish it. He had already busted him down to Private, stripped him of the designation as the unit's Electronic Warfare Specialist, and placed him on disciplinary probation. Not the mention punching him in the face. The Colonel grimaced. Insubordination of the highest order. If they had still been in the 3rd Lyran, Sigil would have undoubtedly been court-martialed and dishonorably discharged in short order.

He played back the holovid from his Battlemaster. Battle was a funny thing. The actual engagement had lasted what, five minutes? Yet it always felt like an eternity. And it always gave him a strange sense of detachment to watch himself. Like it wasn't actually him. More like a movie, or a dream perhaps. He watched as his Battlemaster ripped through the wall of the factory and into the interior. There was the Marik Thunderbolt turning angrily to face them, and there was the Longbow still in its bay, the Flea next to it.

"Son of a bitch…" the Colonel muttered pausing the playback as he zoomed in. He scrutinized the screen for a long moment, shaking his head. There it was. He'd totally failed to notice it at the time, but Sigil hadn't. There was a Marik MechWarrior clambering up the Longbow, seconds away from climbing into the cockpit of the assault 'Mech and bringing the awesome machine to life. The Colonel whistled. If that Longbow had come online, he would have been sandwhiched between it and the Thunderbolt. Not good odds.

Sigil's quick reflexes had taken the 85-ton assault 'Mech out of the picture, not to mention the Flea, with a single salvo. It was almost enough to forgive him for taking potshots at that ridiculous Hermes. The Colonel reached into the nearby humidor, taking out a cigar. Mechanically he cut off the tip, lighting it, puffing as he let his mind wander. Smoke rings drifted lazily through the permanently stale air of the DropShip.

Looks like he was going to authorize the repair of Sigil's Clint after all.

-


	3. Book 3 - Alshain

Chapter 1

Galatea  
3043  
Lyran Commonwealth

The Colonel was back behind his gunmetal desk in his office on Galatea. The 69th had just finished a four-month rest and refit. Ultimately, he'd decided to sell the 85-ton LGB-7Q Longbow they had captured on Carbonis. It was a specialized 'Mech. Pure long-range fire support, it was practically like a mobile artillery platform with its ability to launch salvos of 50 LRMs at a time. The unit just wasn't large enough to warrant such a specialized platform. That, and the offers had just been too good to refuse.

He'd sold it for just over eight million C-bills. It was a rare piece of tech after all. Produced by Lockenburg-Holly Industries in the Free Worlds League, it had been out of production now for at least a hundred years. Another orphan of the never ending Succession Wars.

He'd replaced it with a WHM-6K Warhammer, a 'Mech still being manufactured. The one he'd bought had been made by Olivetti Weaponry on Trellshire. An intimidating machine, it was initially designed as an assault 'Mech, and its dual Donal PPCs were enough to make any enemy think twice before taking it on.

Even after purchasing it new, he still had close to two million C-bills left over from the sale of the Longbow. One and half of those he gave to Leutnant Sigil for the repair of his Clint. No doubt he was even now in the 'Mech bay combing over it and hatching plans for possible modifications. At least that ought to keep him out of trouble for a while. Maybe. If he was lucky.

The repairs to his Battlemaster, the Griffin, and the Hatchetman had all been completed. Shadowfax was parked at the StarPort, once again fully functional, and Dawg had returned his anti-mech infantry squad to full strength.

And he still had enough money in a ComStar bank account to easily maintain the unit for another year, probably twice that if he was careful. Still, it was never too early to start looking for the next contract.

All that was left was to hire a communications specialist to run shotgun in his Battlemaster. After the debacle on Carbonis, there was no way he was ever going to allow Sigil back into his cockpit. So what if it had cost him a million and a half C-bills to get Sigil back into his Clint. It was money well spent.

-

Sigil snarled in frustration. Getting parts for his Clint was practically an exercise in futility, especially the gyro. His search had led him inevitably to the Capellan district, where all the best fixers were located. Of course they charged outrageous prices, but so far he'd turned up nothing, and he was out of other options.

Sigil entered the infantry barracks. Dawg and his men were scattered about the place either cleaning their already immaculate weapons or playing card games. He tried to keep his walk casual as he strode over to where Dawg was sitting gun oil in hand.

Dawg looked up. "Hey Sig, lemme see that Sternsnacht I gave you. I want to make sure your keeping proper care of it."

"Oh, uh… sure." Sigil reached down and unfastened the safety on the holster. Withdrawing the heavy pistol, he set it down on the table with a meaty thunk.

Dawg had it apart in seconds. He paid particular attention to the barrel, eyeing it critically, then moving onto the receiver and magazine. "Still pretty clean. When was the last time you shot it?" He slid the pieces back over towards Sigil.

"It's uh… been a while. I've been busy trying to get my Clint back online. Hasn't left much time for small arms practice." He shrugged.

Dawg frowned. "Not enough time to practice a skill that could save your life, huh? You must be busy. Thing is, Sig, a piece like this needs to be fired, and fired often. Otherwise, when you need it, she's just not gonna be there for you. Remember, when you used it in the arena it was coming straight off my hip where I kept her plenty happy. Looks to me like she's being neglected. Not a good thing. Think of her like your Clint, except you get to carry her everywhere you go. Now, what brings you here, anyway?"

"Oh, I was… uhh… going into Galatea City and thought you might want to come along?" Sigil shifted nervously then reached to pick up the barrel and receiver.

Dawg eyed him critically. "I seem to recall a similar request from you last year. Drop the bullshit. Where exactly are you going and why."

Sigil fumbled, struggling to fit the pieces of the Sternsnacht back together. "Some guy named Fanhg Li. In the Capellan district. I can't find all the parts I need to put my Clint back together. A few people mentioned his name, and I'm out of options."

He looked hopefully at Dawg. "I just, you know, would uhh… feel better if you were there."

Dawg considered him for a long moment. "When are we leaving?"

-

The first thing that always struck Sigil about the Capellan District were the masses of neon lights. It seemed as if the streets were lined with them, some of them towering stories high, climbing up the sides of the tall metal buildings which framed the streets. Their hovercar pulled over to the curb, the gull doors opening automatically. Sigil, Dawg, and two of Dawg's men disembarked.

Sigil looked around trying to orient himself. The sidewalks were thronged with people flowing up and down the street and into and out of the various stores and shops. The overwhelming majority of them were of Capellan decent, obvious from the vaguely almond shape of their eyes, and the complexion of their skin. Most of the signs were also in Capellan, the ideograms complex and strange to his unaccustomed eyes.

Confused, Sigil walked into the nearest building. He couldn't read the signs anyway, so what did it matter. The navigational system in the hovercar had said this was the place. He pushed the heavily tinted door open.

Immediately he was startled as the booming of a hollow gong announced their entrance. As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he was astonished to find miniature trees lining a slate pathway which lead further into the building. To either side, past the cleverly manicured dwarf trees, were small clusters of tables and chairs.

A young raven-haired woman materialized from behind one of the nearby trees. Her sarong had a bamboo motif embroidered across it. She approached the group, speaking in an unintelligible Capellan dialect.

Sigil shook his head. "Uh… Fanhg Li? We're here to see to Fanhg Li?" He started gesticulating with his arms, motioning down the slate path. "Is Fanhg Li down there? FA-AH-ANG LEE?"

The young lady took in the group of four with a quick glance, and motioned them to follow as she headed down the slate path. Before long the sound of running water could be heard, growing louder as they entered deeper into the building.

Ahead, a soaring stone waterfall had been constructed, water cascaded down it's carefully sculpted sides, filling a large pool at it's base. Numerous gold and silver carp glided gracefully between the water lilies and lotus blossoms floating on its surface. A large bamboo grove was off to their left, and it was in that direction the young lady led them.

As they penetrated into the center the dense bamboo grove, it revealed a sizable clearing dominated by a black lacquer table. A painstaking replica of the waterfall they had just passed had been painted onto its surface by an obviously talented artist. She motioned for them to sit, disappearing almost instantaneously into the bamboo surrounding the clearing.

Dawg shot Sigil a questioning look. "Not exactly what I was expecting when you said you were shopping for BattleMech parts, Sig."

Sigil tried his best to act nonchalant, and as if he had some idea of what was going on. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure if he was in the right place, or, for that matter, if that woman had even understood what he said. Secretly, he was terrified they'd all be handed menus, and the entire thing would end up being a wild goose chase. But there was nothing to do but wait.

As the minutes dragged on, Sigil began to wonder if they'd simply been forgotten about, hidden away as they were in the grove of bamboo. Just as he was about to get up, a petite man in a violently blue velvet leisure suit appeared. He was Capellan for sure, and the toes of his alligator skin shoes appeared to be covered with gold scales. A chronometer sparkled on his wrist, and as a grin split his face, the golden caps of his teeth scintillated. He sat down, speaking in a heavy accent. "I am Fanhg Li. What can I help you gentlemen with today?"

Sigil stopped gawking and found his tongue. "A uh… gyro and a umm… replacement left arm. Both for a Clint."

Li turned his eyes from Dawg, appraising Sigil. "I don't normally deal in BattleMech parts." He chuckled, his eyes gleaming. "But some would, in fact, consider the Clint to be a rare antiquity. Tell me what your interest in these parts is."

Sigil tried to conceal the desperation in his voice. "My Clint got all shot up in The Games last year. I need to get it back online before our unit's next contract. I've already looked everywhere else. A couple people mentioned your name, said if anybody could get one, It'd be you."

"Did they now? And I wonder who exactly those people were? No matter." He waved it off with a quick flicking motion of his hand. "Two and a half million C-bills, four to six weeks transit time. Unless, of course, you have some rare antiquities of your own which may pique my interest."

Sigil couldn't hide his shock. "Two and half million C-bills!? I could buy an entire 'Mech for that much!" He started to get up when Dawg's sturdy hand pushed him hard back down into his seat.

Fangh Li's eyes narrowed dangerously, and what sounded like a low hiss escaped his lips.

Sigil snapped his head around in surprise as Dawg suddenly began speaking to Li in Capellan. "Huh!? Wha…?"

Dawg fixed him with a deadly stare saying simply, "Shut up before you get us all killed. Not one more word." Then he turned back to Fanhg Li and continued talking.

Li's eyes turned away from Sigil as Dawg addressed him. The two spoke at length for a number of minutes. Finally, Dawg took a datapad out of his breast pocket, sliding it across the table towards Li, who accepted it, then rose disappearing into the bamboo.

Dawg spoke next. "Ok. Let's go."

Once they were all in the hovercar and on their way back, Sigil finally asked. "So… uh… what was that all about anyway?"

Dawg spoke to one of his men in the back. "Rudolph. What did you notice?"

"You mean like that entire bamboo grove was a cleverly concealed glassteel safe room with enough interference to fry a egg on? Or the four swarthy turbaned men with kinjals in there with us?"

"How about you, Adolphus? See anything else?"

"Fangh Li was giving hand signals to his men the entire time. I noticed at least one micro video recorder, and I suspect the table hid a few surprises in it as well. Probably gas of some kind given how the room was sealed. I thought I saw some kind of nose plugs, respirator likely, on one of the guards."

Dawg nodded approvingly. "Good. I thought it unusual, at first, how they didn't bother to check our weapons. But that place was so tight they didn't have to bother. We passed through at least four different full body scanners on our way down the path. Concealed in the trees. Real top notch work in there."

Sigil fidgeted in his seat. "But uhh… what about the gyro?"

Dawg fixed him with another dagger-like stare. "The gyro? Were lucky he let us walk out of there. You go into a man's home, sit at his table, and then insult him. You're a real piece of work, Sig."

Dawg shook his head. "You don't haggle over prices with a man like Li, Sig. You don't even go to see a man like him unless you can afford it. Frankly, I don't even know how you managed to get in to see him in the first place."

Sigil looked out the window, frowning. "So…, that means no gyro?"

Dawg finally broke out in a grin. "Nah, I didn't say that. It just so happened I needed a few things as well. Your parts will be in sometime next month, as will a few goodies of my own."

Chapter 2

Galatea  
3043  
Lyran Commonwealth

Sigil watched Hamilton climbing down from the cockpit of his 6K Warhammer. He shook his head, that thing practically still had the shrink wrap on it.

Hamilton walked across the 'Mech bay towards him, thumbing his hand over his shoulder. "I'll be handling all the maintenance on that baby, Sigil. Brand new, straight off the Olivetti Weaponry assembly lines. It even smells new. Bet you've never smelled that new cockpit smell." He chuckled as he looked past Sigil at the antique Clint still hanging from chains.

Sigil scowled. "Whatever, Hamilton. My 'Mech's electronics are so advanced there isn't a place in the entire Inner Sphere that knows how to make them anymore!"

Hamilton guffawed. "More like when the factory was destroyed no-one even noticed or bothered to rebuild it. The 'Hammer? To great of a design to ever forget or allow to get lost. Must be at least four factories still producing this baby to this very day."

Hamilton critically eyed the piles of rusty scrap heaped all around what remained of the Clint. "Unlike some other people I know, I can get parts too. Even factory new," he gloated.

Sigil waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Must be nice." He grinned. "Well, what is nice is knowing you've got my six covered with it."

Hamilton nodded. "As long as you don't use it as an excuse to do something stupid…"

-

Some MechWarriors achieved such fame that their 'Mechs were forever associated with them. Jaime Wolf's Archer, The Bounty Hunter's Marauder, or even General Aleksandr Kerensky's Orion. Among Clint pilots, there was only pilot who had ever gained any significant amount of notoriety, Janos Arthur Denton II. And honestly, outside of Clint pilots, no one had probably really heard of him anyway.

A member of the House Steiner's Arcturan Guard, he was more famous for the modifications he had done to his Clint, then for his performance on the battlefield. He had pioneered the subsequently named CLNT-2-3T "Denton" variant. The change was deceptively simple. He'd replaced the Armstrong AC/5 with a ChisComp 43 Special Large Laser and four additional heat sinks. The ChisComp was commonly found on the slightly heavier ENF-4R Enforcer.

Other Clint owners had since followed suit. While the change sacrificed about 100 meters of range, it eliminated the liability of an ammunition explosion. The loss of range was partly offset by the Clint's excellent speed and jump capacity, and the addition of the four heat sinks kept the additional heat from the laser manageable.

Sigil was going to do it one better. By switching over to the new Freezers, he wouldn't need to add the additional four heat sinks, and he'd still dissipate almost 50% more heat than the "Denton." And that would leave him space enough to double the number of Martell mediums, and upgrade the armor to six and half tons of Durallex Medium.

He whistled to himself. A heavy laser, four mediums and the heat sinks to use them. This Clint would be a monster. Maybe someday there'd be a "Sigil" variant as well, he chuckled to himself.

-

Fangh Li was as good as his word. Whatever those words has been, he had no idea, he didn't speak Capellan. Dawg had just told him he'd get his parts and that he would make arrangements directly with the Colonel regarding the payment, and Sigil didn't have to worry about it.

Come to think of it, he had no idea how much Dawg had even paid for the parts. The only number he had heard was two and half million for the gyro. He shuddered. Unbelievable that the man had the gall to ask for such a ridiculous sum. But what did it matter now, he thought to himself, as he smiled fondly at the refurbished gyro, replacement left arm, and jump jet exhaust vents.

He had a lot of work to do.

-

Colonel Jason Henley was reviewing potential contracts for his mercenary command, the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. It had been almost five months since they'd returned from Carbonis, and he had three offers on the table already.

Pirate hunting for House Marik. Way out towards the Magistry of Canopus. Find the pirate's base of operations and destroy it. Marik was offering a cash bounty for each pirate unit destroyed, in addition to the base pay. It'd likely take extensive recon to find them, and then there was the matter of tracking them down. He had a couple of VTOLs, but with the exception of Sigil's Clint, his unit wasn't exactly fast. And then there was the real possibility they wouldn't be able to locate them at all in the first place. He shook his head, it wasn't really a good fit.

House Steiner was hiring for an objective raid. They were after replacement LAM parts. LexaTech Industries on Irece in the Draconis Combine was the only place left in the Inner Sphere that still had an operational LAM production line. No doubt it would be heavily defended, likely with a front-line veteran unit. Plus, Steiner wasn't offering any salvage rights, only a substantial bonus for the capture of an operational STG-A5 Stinger LAM. The risk didn't seem to match the compensation.

That left the newly founded Free Rasalhague Republic. Six-month planetary assault. The KungsArme 2nd Drakon was looking for additional forces to bolster their numbers in preparation for the campaign. Exchange rights on salvage, integrated command, battle loss compensation, and a solid base pay.

Henley stroked in chin in thought. A planetary assault would offer ample opportunity for salvage, which could make the contract quite lucrative. And they'd be going in as part of a much larger unit. The 2nd Drakon was a full BattleMech regiment plus support. Of the three, this one definitely seemed to offer the best prospects.

It would at least be worth it to meet with the FRR liaison officer, go over the fine print, and see if he could get a read on the situation.

And then there was the matter of hiring the new communications specialist. Henley turned his attention to the relatively small pile of applications. Most of them were marginal. Except one. Thomas Lagemann. Studied tactics and strategy at Nagelring. Ran mobile HQ communications for the 2nd Donegal Guard during the War of '39. Saw action in the Kessel campaign. Completed two full tours of duty. Mustered out as First Leutnant. He would be a solid hire.

And just in time too. He had the feeling the 69th would soon be taking to the field again.

-

In transit to Rasalhague  
3043  
Free Rasalhague Republic

Colonel Henley looked out over deep space from the observation desk of the Golden Goose, the merchant class JumpShip taking his unit to Rasalhague. There had already been a Union class DropShip docked with her when they had arrived in Shadowfax. A gold rook on a circular field of blue had been painted on its hull. A unit insignia, no doubt, but he couldn't quite place it.

His thoughts drifted back towards the upcoming campaign. The objective raid for House Davion hadn't really been satisfying. It didn't seem to have been all that important. In the great chess game played by the five Houses, it was ultimately meaningless.

The Succession Wars would drag on endlessly, humankind would continue to suffer the atrocities of never ending conflict, and more and more precious technology would be lost to the voracious appetites of the dogs of war. What was left to him? What difference could he really make?

Somewhere deep inside of himself, he had always held onto the Star League as a bright, shining example of what could be. As an almost sacred set of beliefs. That humanity could indeed live together in peace and better the lives of everyone. That what was lost could be regained, and possibly even improved upon.

Perhaps that was what had attracted him to the planetary assault. A chance, however small, of shifting the balance of power. With the combining of House Davion and House Steiner into the nascent Federated Commonwealth, there was for the first time a real chance one of the Houses could shatter the stalemate and unite humanity once more under a single banner.

His woolgathering was broken as a brown haired woman in combat fatigues came up next to him, her gaze also fixed on the tapestry of deep space fluttering in the solar wind. She spoke without turning to face him. "I always wonder which one is my star."

Henley turned to look at her. She looked wistful, and he briefly wondered what he must appear like to her. "Whittington. That's my star. One jump from Hesperus II." He frowned. "I haven't been back since my tour with the 3rd Lyran ended back in '40. I guess it's been almost four years now since I've seen my family. One of these days my little sister will probably getting married."

He sighed. It had been a long time since he'd thought of Kat back on the family estate. He'd cut his teeth piloting the family agricultural 'Mech around the farm. It seemed like an entirely different life now, one that belonged to someone else.

She continued to stare out into deep space, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "I can never seem to find my star, no matter how hard or for how long I look. I think it's because I don't have one. I was born into the mercenary life. My father, Owen, was killed in action against the Dragon on Remus III. We went in with the 3rd Davion Guards and ran straight into the Black Widow company of Wolf's Dragoons. He was killed by Natasha Kerensky herself, a warrior's death. I took command of the what was left of the unit afterwards."

Her face tightened. "The Dragon has been coiled around my fate since I was born. When I was just a kid, my dad was with Reilly's Armored Cavalry under contract with House Kurita. His unit was sent to assault Driscoll's World back in '15. The reinforcements Kurita promised never arrived. They were never supposed it arrive. The Armored Calvary was just being used as a diversion, while the Kurita troops took a different planet entirely. Outnumbered three to one, the Calvary was cut to shreds. My father escaped with about a dozen others, and took refuge in the Federated Suns. That's where he founded Lindon's Company. And that's where I joined. Now it's all mine."

Henley saw her eyes beginning to water, and turned back to the observation window. He pointed off into deep space. "That's your star. Terra. The birthplace of humanity. A reminder of how far we've come, and the promise of a new golden age yet to come. It's what we are all fighting for really, if you can just stop and think about it."

She turned to face him now, the tears still evident in her eyes. "Thank you." She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her fatigues as she composed herself. Extending a hand, she introduced herself. "I'm Colonel Sarah Lindon, CO of Lindon's Company."

She managed a smile. "Actually, we're closer to a battalion now, but the name just stuck."

Henley gave her hand a firm shake. "Colonel Jason Henley. Commanding Officer, 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. Looks like we're both heading to the same place. You under contract with the KungsArme as well?"

She nodded. "Couldn't pass up an opportunity to take it to the Dragon. I've got a few outstanding debts that are long overdue, and it's time I collect."

-

Rasalhague  
3043  
Free Rasalhague Republic

Overste Anders Erling, commanding officer of the 2nd Drakons, paced impatiently as the briefing room slowly filled up. All nine of his company commanders were already there, as well the CO of the 69th Expeditionary Force mercenary unit. Then finally, Colonel Sarah Lindon, of Lindon's Company, another mercenary unit under contract to the Free Rasalhague Republic, arrived.

"Welcome everyone. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Overste Anders Erling, commander of the 2nd Drakon. The purpose of this briefing is to provide you with an overall sense of the battle plan for the planetary assault on Alshain."

"Make no mistake. This is a major campaign. The KungsArme is committing the entire 2nd Drakon Battlemech regiment, as well as an equal number of support units, to this venture. Two mercenary units have also been hired specifically to assist with the assault."

"One Invader and two Merchant class JumpShips will deliver Task Force Fenrir to the Nadir jump point of Alshain two weeks from now. Once there, two Overlord, four Union, and a Leopard class DropShip will begin the ten day burn to Alshain."

"As we approach planetfall, three squadrons of Aerospace fighters will deploy, providing cover for the 'Mech drops." The Overste paused, as murmurs filled the room.

"That's right. We're dropping in." A holographic display of Alshain rotating on its axis slowed and zoomed in to a large urban area.

"We will establish a landing zone here, outside of the capital city Silverdale. The Citadel reports the 6th Alshain Regulars are defending the planet. Expect a regiment of 'Mechs and again as many supporting armor and infantry units."

Overste Erling grinned. "Most of the 6th Alshain Regulars are made up of former Rasalhague Regulars troops. Their loyalty to the Combine is questionable at best. Furthermore, there is already an active resistance movement on planet, called the Alshain People's Movement."

"The overall battle plan is quite simple. Land close and hit hard. The LZ is only ten kilometers away from the capital Silverdale. Once we've secured the landing site, we'll make contact with the local resistance movement. Then, we will coordinate with them to determine the timing of the strike on the city itself. The Alshain People's Movement will launch a series of disruptive strikes on various command, control and communications centers inside of the city at the same time we launch the main ground assault."

"The Sixth will collapse like a house of cards."

Overste Erling looked at each sub-commander in turn, as if daring anyone to disagree with his assessment.

"Two additional points I want to make clear. First, I expect the Sixth Alshain to surrender. In fact, I'm planning on it. You will extend them every possible courtesy under the Ares Conventions. Make no mistake, some of the Regulars are our people and you will treat them as such. War is a nasty business, but I don't want this operation to cause any more destruction them absolutely necessary. Minimize collateral damage. Remember, we are liberating this planet, not trashing it."

"Second. Under no circumstances will you engage any ComGuard unit nor enter the grounds of the HyperPulse Generator. Let me repeat that. Do not engage any ComGuard unit, nor approach the HyperPulse Generator. Period. No exceptions. If you believe you taking fire from a ComGuard unit, you will not return fire. You will disengage and report the incident immediately up the chain of command."

"On you way out, you will find a briefing memstick with detailed unit level responsibilities and deployment maps. I will see everyone back here a week from now. I expect a full unit readiness report at that time, and you will have an opportunity to ask questions as well. Dismissed."

-

Chapter 3

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Captain Varuka Salt watched on the long-range scanners as the 6th Alshain Regular's aerospace fighters rose like a swarm of angry hornets to meet the descending DropShips. Overste Erling had already deployed the 2nd Drakon's fighters to screen their decent. She grimaced, looked like a lot more than she'd been led to expect from the mission briefings. There were going to be leakers.

"Weapons on standby. Prepare to engage. Maximum rate of fire. I don't care if you can't hit, fire anyway. It'll make them at least think twice about their approach. It's going to be another bumpy ride, boys. Mechwarriors to the drop bays. Spanner to the engine room."

-

Hojitsu Nakamoto smiled as he fingered the black onyx dragon figurine. Enter the Dragon's Lair and your going to get burned. The Gunji-no-Kanrei had made his expectations clear. He wasn't anything like his moribund father, the Coordinator. He was interested in success on the battlefield, not the strict adherence to the traditional code of bushido that had dominated the Mustered Soldiery for so long.

Theodore Kurita's military prowess had been proven time and again during the War of '39. It was he who had established the Ghost Regiments, and manipulated the great Houses into accepting the formation of the Free Rasalhague Republic as a buffer between the Draconis Combine and the awesome combined might of the newly formed Federated Commonwealth.

It was also he who had given him command of the 5th Ghost. Along with their sister unit, the 6th Ghost, they had successfully defended Biham from the 8th Crucis Lancers and Laurel's Legion during the last war. And he had every intention of delivering another successful planetary defense to the Gunji-no-Kanrei, methods be damned.

The 5th Ghost was mostly made up of cold-blooded cutthroats and former yakuza gang members. The truth was, he'd lost more MechWarriors to inter-gang feuding than he had on the battlefield. Not the mention the fact he'd been forced to kill his past two executive officers himself. The only thing the men under his nominal command respected was someone more powerful and ruthless than themselves.

And he was ruthless. Under his direction, the ISF had mercilessly purged the 6th Alshain Regulars of anyone even suspected of sympathizing with the Free Rasalhague Republic. The Alshain People's Movement had been crushed. Their leader, known as the "Silver Fox" was even now undergoing interrogation by the ISF, and no doubt spilling his secrets as fast as his lips could move.

And best of all, the approaching 2nd Drakon had no idea he, and his entire BattleMech regiment were even there. In order to better blend in to the populace, and discourage any undue interest, he had ordered almost all of the 5th Ghost 'Mechs painted with the same color scheme and insignia as the 6th.

He chuckled to himself. His unit literally was a "Ghost Regiment." Even if the 2nd Drakon managed to descend through twice the aerospace cover they were expecting, that was only the beginning of the surprises he had in store for them. The FRR would learn to respect the Dragon's territory.

-

Captain Varuka Salt watched as a wedge of Kurita Shilones and Lucifers bulled their way through the Rasalhague aerospace cover. They juked erratically as they approached Task Force Fenrir. Autocannons, salvos after salvo of LRMs, particle cannons, and heavy lasers belched forth from the assembled DropShips as they sought to destroy the enemy fighters.

A Shilone, then one of the Lucifers went spinning out of control as their control surfaces were destroyed by the onslaught, but the remaining four vectored in on the Newfoundland, one of Union class DropShips. Rising up from underneath it, they unleashed their full complement of weapons, targeting the four main altitude engines.

Salt winced. It was a well-known vulnerability of the design. Unlike the Overload with six engines, the Union only had four. The loss of any one of them usually resulted a catastrophic loss of control.

The four Kurita fighters barrel rolled as they flew directly between the Rasalhauge DropShips, preventing the DropShips from firing on them for fear of hitting their neighbors. It didn't matter, the damage had already been done. Salt watched in horror as one of the Newfoundland's engines flamed out, tilting the spheroid DropShip and sending it into an uncontrolled descent. Then the 6th Alshain fighters were away, circling back down to the vicious dogfight below.

She watched transfixed as the Newfoundland tumbled out of control, leaving a trail of billowing smoke to mark its fall.

"This is Thor. Prepare for 'Mech drops. After the drop, all ships return to waypoint Delta-Foxtrot. Once the LZ is secured, we'll conduct landing ops."

Salt blinked twice, forcing her attention away from the doomed DropShip. Delta-Foxtrot? Weren't they supposed to drop the 'Mechs then land immediately? Now the Overste was calling for them to hold station above planet. She glanced worriedly at the tactical display. The Rasalhague fighters were already withdrawing having suffered heavy losses. Usurper! Things were going into hell in a hand basket already.

She hit her comlink. The Colonel had enough to worry about already, and she hated to be the bearer of bad news, better to keep it short and sweet. "Standby to commence drop operations in T minus 120."

-

The combat drop had gone without a hitch. Salt must be getting better at keeping her hands steady, Sigil thought to himself. They had all landed in their assigned quadrant and had moved to their pre-designated positions.

Alshain was a stark, bare unforgiving planet. The terrain was dominated by wind scowered hills, deep sinkholes, and sparse, practically non-existent vegetation. It was also well known for its ferocious flash EMP storms. But it was home to numerous heavy industries which exploited it's rich ore veins and large natural gas deposits. Both the Panther and Locust were manufactured on planet, along with numerous combat vehicles. No doubt it would make a fine prize.

Sigil turned his attention away from the landscape and back to his tactical displays as four red triangles appeared at extreme range. He never stopped being impressed by the scanning range of his Clint's Sloane 220 Lockover. Over 4 kilometers. Most systems were only good for a bit more than two and half. Which meant the other guys were almost certainly still unaware of him.

"I've got a medium lance of unidentifieds. I make them out to be a Jenner, Phoenix Hawk, Trebuchet, and Dragon. Must be our friends from the 6th Alshain. Transmitting the map with coordinates and vector overlays now. I'm going to conceal myself in that sinkhole over there and go into standby. I want to give that Jenner a special little surprise." Sigil chuckled.

The Colonel had anchored himself at the center of the quadrant Erling had assigned his unit. To his west was Lt. Hamilton in his new 6R Warhammer. Lt. Weddle was off to his right in his Griffin. He had deployed Sigil forward to take advantage of his Clint's tracking system, and also because it was fast enough to get back quickly.

"Negative, Lt. Sigil. Drop back to Epsilon, where we can cover you."

The Colonel waited a few seconds. "Lt. Sigil. Acknowledge."

Lagemann spoke from behind him in the command console. "Sir, I've got the map. Lt. Sigil just disappeared from our scanners, he's already gone into low power, sir."

The Colonel's eyes narrowed as he shifted his attention to the tactical display. That boy couldn't follow orders to save his life. And one day, it was going to catch up with him. "Lt. Hamilton, shift to Omicron, Lt. Weddle to Tango. See if you can drop that 'Hawk. It's the only one with enough speed to break through. I'm moving up to support Lt. Sigil."

Both 'Mechs immediately started moving towards their assigned points. "He had better make his shots count," the Colonel growled.

Sigil punched up the approaching Jenner on his optical scanners. The Clint was running on essential power only to minimize any telltale emissions. It was about 600 meters ahead of the three Kurita 'Mechs following it.

The Draconis Combine made awful targeting and tracking systems. The Jenner's Bk-309 wasn't worth much past a paltry 500 meters, but then again all of its weapons systems were short range only. Sigil grinned as it closed on his position. His guess was pretty good. It would pass within about 100 meters of him. Well, the fact that the Sloane had extrapolated its likely path had helped as well, he reflected.

Chapter 4

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Oblivious to his presence, the Jenner closed on Sigil's concealed Clint. As the nimble 35-ton 'Mech passed his position, Sigil popped up from the sinkhole and fired a blistering salvo at the Jenner's left side. His heavy ChisComp drilled into the Jenner's right arm, melting armor like butter as it cored into the supporting structure. One of his four Martell's finished the work it had begun, destroying the stubby right arm, and almost half of the enemy's 'Mechs firepower at the same time. A pair of his other mediums both savaged its left torso, trashing a pair of jump jet exhaust ports and damaging its Thunderstroke SRM-4 in the process. The fourth flew wide.

The Jenner's torso tracked left as he closed the intervening distance between them in an instant. His right leg flashed out, crushing right through the thin armor on the Jenner's left leg, but miraculously failing to damage any of the sensitive movement actuators. Then the Jenner responded at point blank range with its two remaining Argra 3L mediums, scorching his right leg and left arm.

His missile lock indicator blared to life, warning him that the Kurita Trebuchet had him in its crosshairs. Reflexively, he stomped on the petals to his Andoran jump jets, rocketing backwards as a flight LRMs threw up gouts of dirt from the ground below him.

He snapped off another shot with his ChisComp. The heavy laser bored into the already damaged left torso, cutting clear through it. With nothing left to hold it in place, the remaining left arm simply fell smoking to the ground. Nice. He'd completely disarmed the Jenner. Then he disappeared back into the sinkhole.

-

Colonel Henley watched as Sigil engaged the lead Kurita 'Mech. The cat was out of the bag now. The 6th Alshain Dragon turned towards his Battlemaster accelerating to its maximum speed of 86 kph. The Trebuchet was keeping pace directly behind it providing fire support. The Clint and Jenner exchanged fire, then Sigil disappeared back into the sinkhole. He just caught the Phoenix Hawk lifting off in pursuit as his own missile lock indicators blared their warning.

The Dragon and the Battlemaster exchanged PPC fire. His Donal hit dead center on the Dragon's thickly armored chest, as it returned the strike with is Lord's Thunder particle cannon. With over two tons of armor encasing each leg, his 'Mech easily absorbed the hit to his left leg. The dual Zeus LRM-15s from the Trebuchet were next. A dozen of the missiles cratered his left arm and chest, but they were like mosquitos bites to his thickly armored hide. The second flight flew long landing behind him.

"Weddle, move up and engage the Trebuchet. I'll take down the Dragon. Hamilton, keep sniping at that Phoenix Hawk. Sigil, your about to have a visitor to that little hobbit hole your hiding in."

That Dragon pilot had stones, though, Henley thought as both 'Mechs raced headlong towards each other. The 6th Alshain were supposedly a second line unit, but this guy was acting more like some Combine fanatic. Not even a hint of hesitation, even though he was charging down an assault class 'Mech.  
The Dragon pilot triggered his Telos DecaCluster as they closed with each other, eight of them all clustering on his left torso. But that was they joy of the Battlemaster, armor to spare. Then they were trading PPC shots again. His Donal evaporated two thirds of the armor on the Dragon's right PPC carrying arm. Its Lord's Light bored into his right torso, as the Trebuchet unleashed another round with its dual Zeus LRMs. His missile lock indicator was blaring continuously. Another nine missiles exploded against his chest, the second flight thankfully going wide.

"Weddle, hurry up and get your ass up here! I'm tired of eating all these LRMs!"

-

Lt. Hamilton was stationary, just waiting for the perfect shot. It was obvious the Phoenix Hawk was going to follow Sigil into the sinkhole. It was the only jump capable Kurita 'Mech on the field. And sure enough that was exactly what it did, and his targeting reticle was waiting. Twin azure bolts came streaking forth from the massive barrels the 'Hammers twin PPCs towards the jumping Kurita 'Mech. The streams of charged particles slammed into the airborne 'Mechs arms, laying them both bare right down to the structure. Then it disappeared into the sinkhole. Sigil would have to finish it up from there. He grinned. It was a good omen. The first shots with his new 'Mech had both landed.

-

Sigil had cheated to the inside lip of the sinkhole, gambling the Kurita pilot would expect him to have opened up as much distance as possible. He had his back to the jagged wall of the sinkhole as he watched the Phoenix Hawk sail into the hole after him, landing in front and below him. It twisted hard to right as it landed, slewing its torso around even further in order to target him.

One of the great things about the Sloane was that it was practically impervious to heat. Which was a good thing. The excess heat from his jump jets, combined with all of his energy-based weaponry generated more heat then even the Freezers could dissipate. Sigil shuddered to think of what it would have been like if he had kept the original single heat sinks.

Now within the confines of the pit, the two 'Mechs unloaded on each other. The Phoenix's heavy Harmon slagged half a ton of armor from his left leg, one of its mediums immediately following suit. "Left leg breached. Left leg critical. Upper Leg Actuator damaged. Movement impaired." The second medium threw up a shower of rocks behind him as the 'Hawk's M100 machine guns chattered to life, chipping away at the armor on his left arm.

His ChisComp hit the 'Hawk's undamaged left torso. Damn it! Then he fired his four Martells. A pair of them mangled the exposed structure its right arm destroying it, and denying the 'Hawk its primary weapon system in the process. One hit the left leg, the other burning even more armor off the left torso, but sill not penetrating it.

Sigil circled left along the lip on the sinkhole, forcing the damaged left leg to work. He'd practically rebuilt the entire Clint. The leg would hold, he knew it. The 'Hawk fired its Pitbans, leaping up onto the ledge to meet him. It was going to get physical.

He turned his Clint hard left, using the side of the sinkhole to shield his damaged left leg, as he swiveled his torso in the opposite direction. At point blank range, both 'Mechs unloaded at each other one more time. The 'Hawks remaining medium laser struck his undamaged right arm, as its machine gun pock marked his chest.

His quartet of Martells struck the approaching 'Hawk full in the chest, sending molten rivers of Durallex Light down the center and right side. His ChisComp penetrated its left torso, destroying a pair of its Pitban 9000 exhaust ports, and then it was right in his face.

The 'Hawks leg lashed out, staving in the armor plates protecting his right leg, and damaging the structure underneath in the process. The Sloane once again informed him of the damage, "Right leg breached. Recommend immediate withdraw or partial cover." He lashed out with wildly with his left arm, as the Clint teetered precariously on the edge, failing to connect, but managing to bring his 40-ton machine back under control. It was time to go.

"Hamilton! Little help please," Sigil screeched as he opened the Andoran IIs wide, sending super heated plasma spewing from his feet and back. He rocketed up and out of the sinkhole, sailing backwards towards the Colonel lumbering assault 'Mech. Once again, the damaged upper left leg actuator held as he landed his 40-ton machine.

Smelling the kill, the damaged 6th Alshian 'Hawk came sailing out of the sinkhole as well, in close pursuit. But the damage to its Pitbans caused it land just short of the Clint, scant meters shy of physical combat range.

The two 'Mechs traded fire yet again, the 'Hawks Harmon medium piercing his left arm, as a stream of lead from its machine gun passed high over his shoulder. The Sloane was handling the play-by-play. "Left arm breached. Left arm critical. Shoulder actuator destroyed. Upper arm actuator offline. Lower arm actuator offline. Hand Actuator offline. Limb impaired. Three limbs breached. Recommend immediate withdraw at maximum speed."

Sigil ground his teeth as he sent his lasers streaking towards the Kurita 'Mech. He had to drop this 'Hawk now! The ChisComp heavy hit the already savaged left torso, blowing clear through it. The 'Hawk's remaining arm fell heavily to the ground in a shower of sparks. Two of his Martells bored holes into its right leg, another hitting its center torso, as the last flew wide.

He'd disarmed it! But still the Kurita pilot came on, desperately hoping to close the range. One kick from the 45-ton 'Mech to either of his damaged legs, would send him crashing to the ground.

Suddenly, a pair of azure bolts slammed into the Phoenix Hawk's chest, causing it to stagger backwards, smoke pouring from two freshly created holes in its chest, sending the armless 'Mech crashing roughly to the ground.

Hamilton's cool voice came over the comlink. "You called?"

-

Weddle hit the Griffin's Rawlings 55s, sending him arcing in the sky to land atop a rocky crag. Below he could see the Colonel's Battlemaster facing off with the 6th Alshain Dragon. The Trebuchet was holding position well behind the two dueling 'Mechs providing fire support, and still out of his range.

Well, at least he had range to the Dragon. He triggered his Delta Dart, sending a flight of 15 LRMs spiraling towards the heavy 'Mech. Missiles exploded up and down the length of the Dragon's right arm, blasting away armor and chewing into the structure beneath. Tell tale sparks flew from the damaged arm as at least one of the actuators was impaired, then there was a brief blue flash, a sure sign the PPC coil had been damaged as well. He smiled in satisfaction. A good shot.

-

The Dragon suddenly switched directions, furiously backpedaling away from his Battlemaster as the LRMs from Weddle's Griffin savaged it right arm. He leveled his hand held Donal at the now retreating Dragon and thumbed the firing stub. Man-made lightning streaked towards the Dragon's center mass hitting it again, covering the chest of the 'Mech with spider web of electrical arcs.

His missile lock indicator was still blaring away, as the Trebuchet continued raining pain on his assault 'Mech. Missiles exploded against the sides of his chest, the armor there finally beginning to thin, as four more hit undamaged right leg.

Suddenly the Battlemaster was rocked by a concussive blast, as four of the LRMs brutally impacted the 'Mechs head. Both Henley and Lagemann were wrenched violently against the five-point harness that strapped them into their command couches. Then, the DecaCluster from the retreating Dragon slammed into the beleaguered 'Mech, wreathing the assault 'Mech in smoke as another eight missiles exploded against the 'Mechs left side.

Henley fought with the control sticks to keep the 85-ton war machine on its feet as the smoke cleared from his viewscreen. The enemy 'Mechs were withdrawing.  
"All units hold position. Let them go. They're not getting through this way." The Colonel thumbed the command frequency. "Quadrant 56 secure." Then he addressed Lagemann behind him. "Lagemann, sitrep."

Lagemann shook his head. He'd been monitoring the command frequencies since they'd landed. And while the situation in front of him was good, the rest of news was grim. The 6th Alshain had been probing the defensive perimeter of the LZ looking for a weakness to exploit. And they'd found one. With the loss of the Newfoundland, the 2nd Drakon was spread too thin, and sure enough the Dragon had found a hole.

He hadn't mentioned it to the Colonel yet. It was a balancing act, and being this close to the action, he hadn't wanted to distract the Colonel from battle. It was a different thing indeed, to be handing C3 from inside the cockpit of a BattleMech in the middle of a firefight. He was used to the relatively safety of a mobile HQ behind the front lines.

"The western defensive perimeter is collapsing. 2nd Drakon units are falling back, coalescing their remaining units. The 6th Alshain is moving into the hole created by the withdrawing units. The Overste has dispatched the last of his tactical reserve to try and re-establish the line. They are enroute, ETA 3 minutes."

The Colonel scowled. "How close are we to the breach?"

"Standby, incoming alpha priority from Thor."

The Overste's clearly angry voice came through the cockpit speakers. "Colonel Henley, make best possible speed to Quadrant 60, and stabilize the ****** line! You're the closest available unit. I'm rerouting the tactical reserve to take over your quad. The 6th Alshain are scattering like leaves in front me, I don't want to stop my advance on the city because a few scrub 'Mech jocks broke into the LZ. I've got a opening here, and mean to take full advantage of it! Acknowledge."

He hit the command frequency. "Acknowledged, Thor. On the way to Quad 60." Turning to Lagemann behind him, "What's the story, Lagemann?"

"Looks to me like the Overste is dangerously overextending himself. The perimeter is dangerously warped. The lead elements of the 2nd Drakon are racing ahead, while the western front is all bowed in. The entire line could collapse."

The Colonel throttled his Battlemaster into a thundering run. "All units, follow my lead. Looks like the funs not over yet."

-

Chapter 5

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Shujenka Taqi didn't believe in ranks. No one in the 5th Ghost did. In its simplest form, your standing was based on the prestige of the 'Mech you piloted. And she piloted the biggest, baddest one ever created. The awe inspiring 100-ton AS7-D Atlas, a mountain of heavy armor bristling with devastating weaponry at every conceivable range. From the Doombud LRM-20 down to the Deathgiver AC/20 she could kill at any range, and had, many, many times.

And not just enemies, she'd killed a fair number of 5th Ghost MechWarriors who'd taken too keen an interest in her position.

She sneered. The current commander of the 5th Ghost, Hojitsu Nakamoto, piloted an 80-ton Hatamoto-Hi, unmistakable for its samurai-like visage. He could have his vanity, she was much more interested in raw firepower. And while he had chosen to stay all safe and dry back at the HQ, she had taken to the field.

Her battalion would pop the Rasalhague defensive line like a balloon, then wheel around and take their commander from the rear, all while denying their Dropships a place to land. Then, she had a good mind to turn her Deathgiver on Hojitsu and take command of the 5th for herself.

A sinister smile crossed her lips as she watched the fleeing 2nd Drakon 'Mechs. She triggered her comlink. "All units maximum pursuit. Maintain lance integrity. It's time for the 2nd Drakon to feel the full force of the Dragon's Wrath." Her units surged ahead like a tsunami, soon disappearing in front of her. There was one drawback to the Atlas. It was slow.

-

The Colonel was studying the tactical display provided by his Battlemaster's Hartford XKZ 1 as the 69th headed towards its next confrontation. He also had the patch from Sigil's Sloane up on the secondary. He had passed control of his 'Mech to Lt. Lagemann while they were in route.

The Leutnant had put it mildly. The defensive perimeter around the LZ had already been breached. At least a company worth of 6th Alshain 'Mechs were already inside the designated safe area. And more were still coming. There was simply no way his lance of 'Mechs could stem the tide of steel rushing in.

"Lagemann. Patch me in to tactical reserve."

"This Colonel Jason Henley. A company of enemy 'Mechs has penetrated the safe zone. They are currently moving through Quad 67. Reroute 73. 57 is secure. Acknowledge."

There was a short pause, then a woman's voice filled this cockpit. "Acknowleged. Please transmit your IFF codes, command and private frequencies."

A few seconds later, she came over his personal frequency. "Jason? It's Sarah. What do you think your doing!? The Overste ordered me to 57! Besides, you can't take on that many 'Mechs by yourself! It's suicidal!"

"As the highest ranking and best informed officer in the area, I'm taking tactical command of this area. I want you to rally the remaining Drakons and establish a defensive position at Quad 73. I'm going to skirt around the main body then take down their command lance. I'll cut the head off the snake, if you promise to skin it," he chuckled.

"Hopefully, that will buy us enough time for the Overste to understand the gravity of the situation and react. If not, well… "

Colonel Sarah Lindon responded instantly. "Fall back and make your stand with me on 73. With our combined firepower we stand a good chance of stopping their advance. No one's asking you to play hero. Not to mention the fact that you're countermanding my orders from the Overste, and disobeying his direct order for you to proceed to 60 to boot. Could spell trouble for you down the road."

"Sarah, there isn't going to be any down the road if we don't stop the 6th here and now. If we lose the LZ, what's the best we can hope for? A hundred klick hike through hostiles to the secondary landing site, harried the entire way, complete with an evac under fire at the end? Thanks, I'll pass."

He could hear the resignation in her voice as she signed off. "Good luck, Colonel. You're going to need it. Drinks on me if you can manage to show up to claim them."

-

The Sloane announced it's latest discovery, "New unidentified Battlemechs detected. Maximum number of simultaneous targets exceeded. Recommend avoid detection." Yeah, and it tended to offer unwanted advice as well. Sigil glanced over at his secondary display. The screen was crawling with red triangles. "Disable infrared, volley fire, aerospace targeting, and target damage display. Reroute all available processor to multi-targeting." More red triangles appeared at the far edges of his detection range.

"Colonel. I think I just found what you're looking for. I've got preliminary ID on an Atlas, Archer, Dragon, and Jaegermech. They're moving just behind the main body. It's the only assault lance in the group. Heavy EM emissions from the Atlas. Likely the commander. You still got the feed, right Lagemann?"

"Ok, boys, here's the plan," the Colonel began.

-

The Overste's ZEU-6T Zeus thundered across the rocky terrain on Alshain. He'd just gotten the one of the new left arm assemblies with the Lightning Strike PPC in it before he'd departed from Rasalhague. It made the 80-ton assault 'Mech an even more formidable machine, and provided an unwelcome surprise to his enemies. Like that 6th Alshain Dervish he'd cored earlier. Or that Jenner he'd legged.

Judging from the reports coming in, the entire 6th Alshain must have taken to the field in an attempt to prevent them from gaining a toehold and landing their Dropships. Which meant, he paused savoring the taste of opportunity, Silverdale, along with its Starport, was largely undefended. Imagine landing his Dropships right in the middle of the city!

He snapped another shot off at a retreating Whitworth. They were on the run, hightailing it back to the dubious safety of the city. He'd march his command right down main street and liberate this planet. He could almost hear the cheering mobs and see the confetti raining from the sky. Establish contact with the Alshain's People Movement and coup d'état fait accompli.

Of course, it galled him to have to rely on those money-grubbing mercenaries to secure his flank. It was time they earned their paycheck. Those cursed blood sucking mercs better manage to hold it. Other than that, the way was clear. He thumbed his command frequency.

"This is Thor. All units maintain pursuit. This might be the shortest planetary assault in history," he laughed.

-

Weddle's Griffin was crouched down next to Sigil's Clint at the bottom of the sinkhole. He was running off backup battery power. Both of their reactors were shutdown. He hated running blind like this. Somewhere nearby the Kurita assault lance was advancing on their position, but where and how fast was a mystery to him. Sigil had said something about his Octagon Tartrac being "almost as bad as a O/P 911," whatever that meant.

The long and short of it was that Sigil was running his seismic sensors in passive mode to monitor the progress of the Kuritans. Which also meant the timing of their attack was in his hands. He sighed loudly. Time seemed to drag by slower and slower as he waited for the hand signal from the Clint.

His Griffin was as yet untouched. But that wouldn't last long, and it was a brutal, inescapable fact that the only location on his 'Mech capable of withstanding a direct hit from the Atlas' Deathgiver was his center torso. Everywhere else would be breached with a single shot, and an arm hit would practically destroy the entire limb.

Time was a funny thing. Waiting seemed like eternity, but once it was over it seemed as if no time at all has passed before Sigil's Clint pointed up and out of the deep sinkhole they were concealed in. Time to rock and roll.

With a deep breathe, Weddle started his Griffin's reactor, seconds later he was leaping on a pillar of flame onto a narrow ledge at the edge of the sinkhole. Sigil's damaged Clint followed moments later.

The monstrous 100-ton Atlas had passed their concealed location, heading towards the Colonel's Battlemaster and Hamilton's Warhammer who were holding the high ground about a kilometer from the sinkhole. The Kurita Jaegarmech and Archer were forward of the Atlas with the Dragon leading the charge.

Sigil's estimate was spot on. Range to target was 150 meters. Weddle fired his Delta Dart and Sunglow heavy at the rear of the imposing assault 'Mech. He cursed as his Sunglow tracked just to the right of the relatively thin rear armor, scorching the right arm. His LRM's followed his laser, exploding against the thickly armored right arm, a few of them exploding down low against its feet. Sigil didn't fare any better, his ChisComp melting armor from the Atlas' right leg.

His paired mediums fared a little better, hitting the right leg yet again but one of them scoring a hit against the center rear armor. Sigil added his quartet of Martells to the fire. They clustered on the right side, two against the arm and one hitting the right rear torso. The huge 'Mech stumbled for a moment under the wicked onslaught, but still managed to complete its about face.

"Dammit," Weddle mumbled, they'd failed to penetrate its rear. Looks like it was going to be Plan B.

Clearly, they'd gotten its attention, however. As the 'Mech ponderously turned, the other two Kurita 'Mechs lauched LRMs against the Colonel's position as the Jaeger opening up with its long range Mydron D light autocannons.

"Hold position, Sig. We gotta reel him in," Weddle ordered as the assault 'Mech began storming towards them. They opened fire on it again with everything they had. Sigil's lasers blackened armor across the torso and right arm, but now they were facing its incredibly thick frontal armor. The Atlas was legendary for its ability to absorb immense amounts of punishment.

Weddle fired his Sunglow again, melting even more armor from its right arm, but still failing to penetrate. Amazing! The right arm by itself was protected by over two tons of Durallex Special Heavy. One of his mediums hit the right torso, the other managing to land a lucky head hit, but the 'Mech seemed to just shrug it off and keep coming. He triggered his LRMs, but at such close range, they sailed over the head of the towering 'Mech, exploding harmlessly behind it. The he braced for the return fire.

The Atlas opened with the Doombud. Missiles exploded all across his chest and right arm, as it triggered it four Hellion-V medium lasers. A spear of light drilled into his right torso, two into the right arm, the fourth hitting the lip of the sinkhole. Alarm klaxons started blaring immediately. His right arm was breached! Upper arm actutator destroyed! And somehow, one of the missiles had found a chink in his armor and managed to damage the engine shielding and knock out one of his jump jet offline! It's Thuderstroke SRM-6 was next. Short ranged missiles denotated all across his chest, sending chunks of his armor spinning away into the depths of the sinkhole behind him.

Then the Deathgiver spewed forth it deadly load.

Weddle fought valiantly to keep his 'Mech for slipping off the ledge as his left arm was amputated by the huge autocannon, leaving nothing but a ragged, sparking stump where once his arm had been attached. Seconds before he'd been undamaged, now he'd lost an arm, was critical on the other, and had engine and jump jet damage. The sheer firepower of the Atlas was stunning. There was no conceivable way he'd survive another salvo.

"Plan B, Sig! My Rawlings hit, your gonna have to do it! I'll keep his attention."

The mammoth war machine practically filled his entire view screen now, there was practically no chance either of them would miss with their next salvo. They both unleashed on each other simultaneously, filling the air with certain doom. Out of the corner of his eye, Weddle saw Sigil's 'Mech come roaring out of the sinkhole in a desperate gamble to circle behind the armored titan.

Death offers a moment of sublime clarity before the Reaper takes you. And it also gives a man an opportunity to consider just exactly what the value of his soul is. And right now, it seemed trading his soul for the enemy commanders Atlas was as good a deal as he was likely to get. He briefly considered simply punching out, but that would just force what was left of the unit to face what he was facing right now.

He slapped the missile warhead override, hot loading the LRMs in his Delta Dart, which armed the warheads immediately as they were loaded into launcher. Then he dropped his reticle directly under the feet of the Atlas. "Now, Sig!"

His Griffin shuddered as 15 LRMs took flight and he triggered its full complement of lasers. First, explosions rocked the ground beneath the 100-ton goliath, sending huge clods of dirt and stone into the sky, then his own 'Mech was rocked by return fire from the assault 'Mech.

With a horrific tearing and rending of metal, the entire right side of his 'Mech was shredded by the insatiable Deathgiver. Lasers and short range missiles added to the carnage as his entire 'Mech began to come apart around him.

Then, the side of the sinkhole gave way, a huge avalanche of dirt and rock smashed into his already trashed Griffin, sweeping it over the ledge and hurling it into the deep abyss behind him. He smiled in satisfaction as he saw the enemy Atlas sliding uncontrollably in the sinkhole in front of him. Was that Sigil's Clint falling in behind it? As he hit the bottom everything went black and he knew no more.

-

LRMs were exploding everywhere as both the Dragon and Archer began advancing on their defensive position. Luckily, most them exploded against the rocky out cropping they were hiding behind, sparing them the worst of the damage. The Jaeger autocannons were chewing up the ground directly in front of them, leaving long straight trails of dust and smoke as the pilot walked his fire towards them. The range on the Mydron Lights was incredible. At over 700 meters, they were the longest ranged weapon a 'Mech could carry.

The Dragon was in the lead, zig-zagging across the rough terrain at it sought to close on them. "Focus fire on the lead Dragon," the Colonel ordered coolly. It appeared the Kurita lance had already been in at least one engagement. The Colonel could see battle damage on the Dragon's right arm, and it looked like the left side of the Jaeger had already taken some fire as well. Small comfort.

Hamilton's twin Donals belched forth man made lightning. The first one slammed in the Dragon's already damaged right arm, the other blasting armor off its left torso. His own hand held PPC hit center mass, the most thickly armored section of any Battlemech. It was a habit with him, targeting center mass, and he reflected for a moment, that perhaps it was time to break that habit.

LRMs and autocannon fire continued unabatedly pounding their position. Detonations blossomed across both of his arms, his legs still protected by the partial cover offered by the ridge. As the Kuritans closed the range, the Dragon added its Lord Thunder PPC, and the Jaeger its Mydron medium autocannons. Apparently the Dragon pilot has the same habit, Henley chuckled, as his thickly armored chest absorbed the blast from its PPC. Autocannon slugs tore in his right arm, as a second stream of lead spent itself against rocky cover.

"Target the Jaeger. It just entered the range of our Donals. We'll make him pay for that mistake." The Jaeger was pure long-range fire support with its complement of four autocannons. As such, it was only protected by six tons of Kallon Royalstar. Even a 35-ton Panther carried more armor. The pilot was gambling they'd go after the larger threat. He grinned as his PPC spat forth man made lightning at the 65-ton 'Mech.

A trio of PPCs impaled the Jaeger, and it was the Colonel's that presented the bill. Penetrating the already damaged left torso, the stream of charged particles found their way to the Mydron medium's ammunition bin, detonating it. The 'Mech blew sky high, showering the battlefield with metal fragments and 'Mech detritus. The Colonel nodded in satisfaction. You only get to make one mistake.

Then the Dragon was on them, its Lord Thunder tearing through the remaining armor on his left torso. Alarms sounded as one of medium lasers went offline followed by one of his new Freezers. The Dragon's twin Victory 23R medium lasers further scored his right arm and torso, but the armor there still held. Another flight of 30 LRMs targeted his damaged 'Mech, a number of them striking the now exposed left torso, further savaging the structure. The Holly six rack blinked offline, followed by another of his medium lasers. One more hit, and he'd lose his arm. He slammed the emergency ammunition ejection. It was just a liability now with the six rack gone.

The Colonel's PPC nailed the Dragon's right leg, but failed to penetrate. His remaining four medium lasers slagged armor from across its entire chest, with one of them burning a hole into its right leg, but it refused to be slowed down.

Then Hamilton's Warhammer unleashed a devastating alpha strike. The Colonel winced as he watched the 70-ton 'Mech unload everything. Hamilton was risking shutdown, as his 6R still had the original single heat sinks. The Dragon was entirely engulfed in laser, PPC, and missile fire. As the smoke cleared, what was left of it toppled to the ground at their feet, its chest now just a gaping hole.

"What's next, Colonel?" Hamilton asked.

Corporal Lagemann interrupted them. "Colonel. Weddle, Sigil, and the Kurita Atlas have all disappeared into the sinkhole. None of them is responding, and I'm getting nothing on the scanners. The 6th Alshain Archer has powered down its weapon systems and appears to be withdrawing. And Colonel Lindon is requesting a sitrep."

No rest for the weary, the Colonel sighed. "Keep an eye on that Archer, alert me of any changes, otherwise we'll let him go. He's out of range, anyway. Hamilton, head down the sinkhole and report back. I'll keep an eye on things from up here. Lagemann, patch me in to Colonel Lindon."

"Colonel Lindon. This is Colonel Henley. Quad is 67 secure. The Kurita command lance has been neutralized."

Colonel's Lindon's voice came over the cockpit speakers. "You might want to skin out of there, Colonel. The 6th Alshain is pulling is back. You'll probably get a few coming through 67. Recommend you relocate to 70, then link up with my force at 73."

"Negative, Colonel. I've got two 'Mechs unresponsive down in a sinkhole, pilot status unknown. Send me whatever tracking info you've got on the retreating Kuritans, and I'll make do."

You could hear the anger in her voice. "What's your combat readiness, Colonel? Half your lance is down, and the other half probably isn't much better off! ******, Jason! Don't you know when to quit!?"

Henley replied icily. "I don't quit until all my men are accounted for, Colonel. You do what you want. Over."

Lindon fired back, "Don't you cut me off like that! Fine! I'll do just what I want!" The circuit went dead.

Lagemann spoke next. "Hamilton just reported, check your secondary for a live feed."

The Colonel shifted his attention to his secondary display. Thankfully, the Warhammer was equipped with a powerful spotlight which illuminated the depths of the hole.

He sucked in his breath. It looked like a scrap yard down there. He could make out Sigil's Clint, or what was left of it, spread eagle atop a mound of rubble and steel. It looked like the entire left side was missing, but the head still looked intact. The huge armored fist of the Atlas and part of its skull-like head stuck out from the dirt, giving the impression of a zombie trying to claw its from the grave. The cylindrical Delta Dart from the Griffin lay crumpled like a tin can against the wall of the pit. What could be one of its shoulder flanges poked out from the wreckage.

Solemnly, Hamilton whispered. "I don't see any movement down there, Colonel. And I don't detect any power sources..."

Lagemann was next. "Colonel Lindon's unit is moving in support of our position, Colonel. The 6th Alshain units are now vectoring away from our location. Overste Erling is requesting an update."

"Give me Colonel Lindon, Lagemann."

Henley's voice was oddly detached. "Since you're coming this way, Colonel, I could use a couple jump capable 'Mechs with hand actuators."

She responded instantly. "I'll send my Stinger and Wolverine on ahead ASAP to assist. My ETA is approximately five-oh minutes."

"Thank you, Colonel. And nice work skinning the snake. Over."

He turned around in his cockpit, taking a deep breath. "Patch me into Thor, Lagemann."

"This is Colonel Henley. Western LZ perimeter secure. All Kurita units neutralized or withdrawing."

Overste Erlings voice came bellowing back. "Who the hell do you think you are, Colonel," the Overste sneered. "You disobeyed my direct order, and countermanded my orders to tactical reserve! How do you expect me to run this operation, when the people under my command don't follow orders! Apparently you don't understand what integrated command rights mean, Colonel. I suggest you actually take the time to read the contract before you sign it! Standby for further orders from Major Bjorn. He's handing the re-disposition of units for the LZ. Over."

-

Chapter 6

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Overste Anders Erlings scowled at the skyline of Silverdale, the planetary capital of Alshain, from the cockpit of his 80-ton Zeus. He was so close. The 6th Alshain had pulled back into the relative safety of the city, forced there by the 1st battalion assault lances. His executive officer, Overste-Lojtnant Gunnar Holdar stood next to him in his battle scarred Victor.

"Overste, my Pontiac is out of rounds, and my SRMs are running low. I recommend we consolidate our hold on the LZ and then commence landing operations. Once the Dropships have landed we can repair and reload."

The Overste growled back. "Our Dropships should be descending like a flight of vengeful Valkyries right into Silverdale's Starport. We scattered the 6th like chaff in the wind before us, Holdar, I can't understand why the flanks had so much trouble holding them back. I expect answers, not excuses, from the unit commanders when we debrief. And I've got a bone to pick with that insubordinate merc commander."  
Erling took one last look at Silverdale, then his Zeus slowly turned, heading back to towards the landing zone.

-

Colonel Jason Henley was in a foul mood. He was the first to admit things could have been much worse, like they could all be dead for instance. As it was, Weddle and Sigil were both in the medical bay aboard Shadowfax. It was a small miracle they had survived the landslide, and, as it turned out, so had the Kurita commander. They had turned her over to the Overste's intelligence officer shortly after the Dropships had landed.

He'd been forced to cannibalize the remains of Weddle's Griffin in order to repair his own Battlemaster. Not that there had been much left of it, but at least it still had the medium lasers and Freezers he needed. The lower two-thirds of the Griffin had been pancaked by the falling Atlas, utterly destroying both the engine and the gyro. It was just scrap now.

Sigil's Clint was only marginally better. The left arm resembled a strip of crispy bacon that had been left in the frying for too long, and the left leg had snapped off at the hip from the impact of the fall. The remains of both limbs were laid out next the Clint, which was, once again, hanging from chains in Shadowfax's cramped 'Mech bay. Hamilton's Warhammer had come through both engagements with nary a scratch on its still pristine hide.

He'd turned in his after action report to the Overste explaining his decisions and their outcomes. His lance had secured their assigned quadrant, then proceeded to incapacitate the command lance of the assaulting enemy 'Mechs. Under his orders, Colonel Lindon and reformed the scattered survivors of the 2nd Drakon's 3rd battalion and managed to turn back the attacking Kurita force, securing the the western flank of the landing zone in the process.

In the report, he claimed salvage rights to a Phoenix Hawk from their first engagement, and the enemy commanders Atlas from the second. And mentioned the fact that he had captured a high level Kurita officer and turned him over for interrogation. His own personal assessment was that his unit had performed in an exemplary fashion.

Now, the Overste had finally summoned him to his HQ for a meeting. Henley could already tell it was going to be a seriously ugly meeting.

-

Overste Anders Erling was furious. As the self-styled "Colonel" from the mercenary unit entered his stateroom aboard the Muspelheim, the Overlord class Dropship which served as his field headquarters, he fixed him with an icy glare.

"Sit down, Colonel," he sneered. "I've read this piece of garbage you call an after-action report." He brushed it distastefully off his desk, letting the papers fall into his waste basket. "You have some nerve claiming salvage rights after disobeying a direct order. When you decided to violate the command rights agreement you forfeited your rights to everything. Salvage, pay, battle loss compensation, transportation renumeration. Everything. I'm tempted to kick your ass right out of the Task Force, and leave you for the snakes."

Anger flared in Henley's eyes, but he somehow managed to hold his tongue.

The Overste leaned over his desk, steepling his hands together. "But, I'm going to give you one more chance. Your unit's performance on the battlefield was notable. And you're capture of the Kurita Sho-sa as given me a valuable piece of much needed actionable intelligence. And, it just so happens your unit's capabilities are a perfect match for the mission I have in mind."

The Overste paused, trying to read the expression on the mercenary Colonel's face, but it was etched in ice. "Furthermore, as a sign of my goodwill, I'm giving you the Sho-sa's AS7-D as salvage. You're going to need it. Your orders. Dismissed."

The Overste slid a datapad across his desk. "Good luck."

-

Colonel Sarah Lindon stirred once more in her sleep, awakening for the third time that night. Glancing at the nearby timepiece, she thought, "What's the point? Even if I manage to sleep now, I'll just be up again in two hours. If I'm lucky."

Shaking her head, see rose and strode out of her cramped stateroom aboard the Palamino, her unit's Union class DropShip.

Minutes later, illuminated by the moon and warmed by the hot, arid breezes of Alshain's climate, she strode aimlessly ahead, her mind consumed with how the 2nd Drakon's campaign was unfolding.

The sheer number of units the 6th Alshain was fielding unnerved her. The fact they had proved entirely loyal to the Coordinator terrified her. Everything Overste Erling had told her to expect had ending up being wrong.

Colonel Jason Henley's words haunted her every step. "He's planning on the local forces surrendering. It's foolish. Never assume something like that. He's thinking it will be over quickly, and mark my words, it will not."

She grimaced. Shortly after he'd said those fateful words, she'd laughed and responded, "We can do this."

Blushing, she recalled how she'd then kissed him, ultimately ending up in his bed.

Startled by the sound of her boots clicking against metal, she re-oriented herself, finding herself on the gangway leading into Shadowfax, Colonel Henley's Leopard class DropShip.

It was true. She'd wanted to see Jason again since they'd first gotten to know each other on the Jumpship to Rasalhague.

A lone Hatchetman stood sentinel in front of the Leopard. She could see the glow from the cockpit, and watched as its head tracked slowly left to right, scanning the area for anything potentially awry.

Two soldiers in heavy combat gear stood immediately inside the entryway to the Dropships' interior, their sub-machineguns at the ready. They shifted blocking her path. She'd been on many Leopards before, and their interior layouts were all quite similar.

Weapons aimed, the one on the left spoke a single strong word. "Identification."

Her hand reflexively reached down, and she was surprised to find she'd remembered to take her credentials with her. She held them out to the guard.

Taking them, he ran them through a nearby scanner built into the Dropship's bulkhead, and motioned her forward towards him.

"Retina scan."

Colonel Lindon leaned in, a red laser passing first vertically the horizontally across her irises.

An electronic voice responded. "Identification confirmed. Colonel Sarah Lindon. Commanding Officer Lindon's Company. Currently employed by the Free Rasalhague Republic. Current location, Alshain, Alshain Prefecture, Draconis Combine."

The solider handed her credentials back to her as he casually shrugged his weapon over his shoulder.

"How may I assist you Colonel?"

Damn, Colonel Henley ran a tight ship. A 'Mech on patrol, armed guards, credential checks and double retina verification. You'd think he was expecting an attack at any second.

She held that thought a moment. Actually, it spoke volumes. Maybe he was.

"I'm here to see Colonel Henley. I can show myself the way."

The guard couldn't hide his sheepish grin, as he responded. "Sorry, Colonel. I can't let you into the Shadowfax without an escort. Colonel's orders. No exceptions."

The second guard stepped forward, cutting in front of the first. "Go on ahead, Colonel. Don't worry about it. Corporal Daniel here is still a bit green. He doesn't exactly understand what Colonel Henley's orders mean."

Corporal Daniel managed to get out, "Whaaaaaa", before a sharp elbow to his side suddenly cut him off.

Colonel Lindon looked the second soldier over, noting his rank and name. "Thank you, Sergeant Major Donnegal." She disappeared quickly into the dimly interior.

-

A soft knocking on the portal to his miniscule private quarters awoke the Colonel.

Quickly rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he swung his bare feet down onto the cool metal floor. He couldn't entirely hide the annoyance in his voice. "Enter."

The door swung open, silhouetting a trim feminine figure that slipped quickly inside, gently closing the door behind her.

He recognized her voice instantly as she broke the silence. "Shhhh… it's me, Sarah."  
With that she slid herself easily into his bed.

-

Afterwards, as she lay comfortably against his chest, she allowed herself to speak.

"Jason, this campaign isn't turning out anything like I expected. You had the size of it before we arrived on Rasalhague. I remember your words before we left. Now here we are, outnumbered, outgunned, trapped in a defensive posture, and totally blind to boot. The Overste's intel is garbage."

Jason reached his hand down to gently stroke Sarah's hair, his face unreadable in the near complete darkness as his mind raced through endless possibilities.

Hearing his silence, Colonel Sarah Lindon continued on in a low, soft voice. "You know, we almost lost the LZ. The entire life flank was leaking like a sieve. The 2nd Drakon's entire 3rd battalion was practically routed. I saw what was left of them streaming past my supporting position in full flight. I had to shift my entire unit just to help hold the flank. Not to mention, getting them turned back around to face the enemy. Good thing you took the situation in hand, otherwise…," she trailed off.

She took a deep breathe. "The Overste's battalion was racing ahead after the 6th Alshain. A classic mistake. They made him completely overextended himself, leaving both flanks stretched way to thin. Especially with the loss of the Newfoundland. Then the 6th hit the left flank like a sledgehammer, their sheer numbers taking everyone completely by surprise."

"I was on Erling's command frequency, since I was his tactical reserve. I heard the whole thing unfold. A battalion of 6th 'Mechs punched thought the left flank like a paper bag. The perimeter crumbled in seconds, and the 6th mushroomed out, ripping into the defending units on either side. The Drakons began withdrawing, faster, and faster. It wasn't long before their discipline completely crumbled, and they just ran."

Jason could feel her balling up her hands in frustration or, perhaps, anger.

"I stepped into the gap, and rallied what was left of retreating Drakon's, allowing them time enough to regroup behind me and return to some semblance of fighting form. They'd been expecting an easy time of it, and when it things got tough, they crumbled like sand."

"The Overste finally figured out what was going on. I heard him order your unit to quad 60." She unfurled her hands, twining her fingers through Jason's.

"You'd already secured your quadrant, and you were the only unit on the western flank to even hold as it was. I knew the 6th Alshain assault lance was out there. I'd heard about it from the survivors of 3st battalion. When I heard you report contact, I admit, I feared the worst. When I saw an Atlas appear on my long range scanners in your quad, my worst fears were confirmed."

Her fingers squeezed Jason's painfully hard. "But you held. Took down the commanders' Atlas and routed his entire lance. I wanted desperately to back you up, but I already had my hands more than full between reorganizing the remaining 2nd Drakon and the attacking 6th Alshain units. There was nothing I could do."

She lifted herself off his chest, her thick blond hair trailing up his chest as she kissed him once again.

"Promise me one thing, Jason."

Again she was met by his silence.

"Don't let me die alone."

-

Chapter 7

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Colonel Jason Henley tossed the datapad onto his desk, leaning back in his chair. It was at least the third time he'd read through the mission orders the Overste had given him. Obviously, things were worse then he'd imagined. Rubbing his forehead, he picked the datapad up once again to read through it one last time, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

KungsArme  
2nd Drakon  
Mercenary Liason Office  
Alshain, Draconis Combine

Colonel Jason Henley:

The leader of the Alshain People's Movement, hereby referred to as the APM, code name "The Silver Fox", is being held in a fortified interrogation facility on the secondary land mass of Alshain. The hardened facility is built on the top of a mountain, directly above a geo-thermal spring that powers the relatively isolated installation.

Your unit will depart via DropShip as soon as possible to extract The Silver Fox, and any other friendly forces if possible, from the detention facility. It is imperative The Silver Fox is rescued. The APM will not mobilize in support of the KungsArme without him. In addition, he possesses critical intelligence on the defenses and disposition of forces within the planetary capital, Silverdale. This intelligence is absolutely essential to planning a successful assault..

There are four weapon turrets providing static defense of the interrogation facility. Each turret is capable of full 360 degree movement and is armed with a LRM-20, two medium lasers, and a pair of anti-infantry machine guns. The facility itself is capable of housing a full company of mechanized combat infantry with supporting heavy armor. In addition, the installation also houses a 'Mech bay capable of supporting up to a company of BattleMechs.

Aerial photographs of the installation are appended to this document to assist in your planning. Overste Anders Erling is attaching Brevet Major O'Mara to your unit for this operation. Major O'mara's primary responsibility is the identification and rescue of The Silver Fox. He will also serve as your Executive Officer for the duration of this assignment, and in the event you become incapacitated, or are otherwise unable to effectively command the unit, he will assume full operational control.

Likely opposition includes up to a company of mechanized infantry supported by LRM and SRM carriers. LCT-1V Locusts and PNT-9R Panthers, also manufactured on planet, are likely. Expect an additional heavy lance of 6th Alshain Regulars BattleMechs to defend as well.

Time is also a factor. Although the installation is relatively isolated, additional DCMS forces, especially aerospace assets, could potentially reinforce the defenders. Additional ground reinforcements are considered highly unlikely within the estimated time span of the extraction operation.

Captain Johan Svensonn  
Mercenary Liaison Office  
KungsArme, 2nd Drakon  
Alshain, Draconis Combine

Extraction raids were among the highest risk assignments a unit could draw, second only to the infamous "Diversionary Raid." What worried him most of all was where the intelligence for this mission had come from. If the past intel was anything to judge by, this was at best a guesstimate, at worst, complete fantasy.

At least the Overste had made good on the Atlas. With the loss of the Weddle's Griffin and the severe damage to Sigil's Clint, he wouldn't have been able to field even a complete lance without the addition of the assault 'Mech. As it was, he was going to have to shift personnel assignments.

It was time to run this by a few of his senior commanders. See what they made of it.

-

Captains Weddle, Dawg, and Salt all crammed themselves into the Colonel's office. He'd given them all copies of the Overste's mission orders to review prior to the conference.

The Colonel opened the meeting, looking each of them in the eye. "I want your frank assessments of the situation. Everything said in this room stays in this room. Period. Understood?"

Each of the Captains nodded in acknowledgment. The silence drew out, as the meeting teetered on a precipice. It could go either way, outrage at a seemingly suicidal assignment, or a hard-nosed how are we going to get this done attitude. His face set in stone, the Colonel waited it out.

Dawg, the infantry captain, broke the silence. "I've been looking for a chance to check out the new toys I bought back on Galatea before we left." He grinned widely. "Looks like the perfect opportunity to me."

The Dropship captain, Varukka Salt, turned giving Dawg an appraising look. Then she addressed the Colonel. "I want some aerospace cover if I'm flying off into the middle of nowhere. After watching what happened to the Newfoundland, no way I'm taking Shadowfax anywhere without aerial support. Forget it."  
Weddle was next. "No way the Clint can be repaired in time. Corporal Southers will have to fill in for Sigil in his Hatchetman. Including the Atlas, that would at least give us a full lance. Doesn't look all the different from the Carbonis run to me, really." He shrugged.

The Colonel was gratified. He couldn't ask for better people. No gripping, bitching, or complaining. Real professionals, each one. They might come out of this yet. "Strategy session at 18:00. I'll see what I can do about aerospace support. If there's not anything else, dismissed."

Dawg stood up, "There is one more thing, Colonel." The rest of the assembly turned, looking at the tall, heavily muscled man. "I want you to assign Sigil to my squad. He's basically dispossessed now, and I've got a use for him."

Salt couldn't hide her surprise. "What!? You want the tech to play solider boy!? Are you crazy? He'd be lucky to last a minute out there with you ground pounders! He's bad enough when he's in 'Mech for Kerensky's sake!"

Weddle couldn't help chuckling. "I don't need him, Dawg. Fine by me."

The Colonel was frowning. "We need to talk about this in private, Dawg. The rest of you are dismissed. See everyone back here at 18:00."

Weddle and Salt filed out, leaving the Colonel and Dawg alone in the small conference room.

"Before you go any further, Dawg, there one thing you must understand. I was best friends with Sigil's brother, James, when I was in Sanglamore. Before he was KIA, he made me swear I would watch over his little brother. If I assign him to your squad, that oath will fall on you."

Dawg nodded solemnly.

"So, what exactly do you have in mind, Dawg," the Colonel skeptically inquired.

-

"You can't do this me," Sigil screamed. "I'm a MechWarrior, not some ****** grunt! I can fix it! I can fix it! I swear to Kerensky I can get my Clint back up and running! I just need a little more time!"

Sigil was hysterical. Alternating between despair, anger, and practically on the verge of tears, the Colonel looked at him flatly. "There isn't any more time. We leave at oh-dark-thirty. Report to Captain Dawg for your new assignment. Dismissed."

"No…. no….," Sigil wailed, collapsing to his knees in the Colonel's office. "Please, please, don't do this," he begged. "I'm not a solider! I flunked small arms! I'm in terrible shape! I won't last a minute out there! It's a death sentence!" He finally broke into tears his head shaking back and forth as he stared at the plate steel decking.

It was just going to get worse from there the Colonel could already tell.

Standing, Colonel Henley addressed him one final time. "By Kerensky! Get your shit together, and try to act like a man, Leutnant. You have your orders." The Colonel walked past Sigil's still sobbing form, now curled in a fetal position, and left his own office, closing the door behind him, shaking his head.

Sadly, it went just about how he'd expected it to go.

-

Chapter 8

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Sigil was skulking around the 'Mech bay in the full combination sneak suit Dawg has issued him, along will all of the men under his command. It was an impressive piece of 'tech. Visual, infrared, and electromagnetic suppression, it made the wearer practically invisible.

He had long wondered just what Dawg had bought from Fangh Li back on Galatea. Now, the question was at least in part, answered. The Colonel's plan to extract "The Silver Fox" from the Kurita detention facility called for Dawg and McMillian's infantry squad to infiltrate the base while the unit's Battlemechs drew the defenders attention.

Dawg had also provided him a sleek little microcomputer. Once they located a suitable entry point, he was supposed to bypass the security systems and open the door, from there the infantry would handle things. The only weapon he carried was the Sternsacht strapped to his thigh. Another gift from Dawg. He was just full of gifts.

He popped the full helmet off, tucking it under his arm. The clicking of stiletto heels echoed across the 'Mech bay as Captain Salt strolled across the steel floor in her skin tight red flight leathers.

She angled towards him. "What do you think you're doing Tech," she sneered.

"Uhh… I'm just umm… checking out the sneak suit Dawg gave me."

She looked him slowly over. "You can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig. So you're playing foot solider now, huh? PBI…" She grinned mischievously.

Salt lunged forward, grabbing his arm, flipping him around, and twisting it painfully behind his back. "Squeal like a pig for me, Tech," she laughed cruelly, as his helm clattered to the ground.

"OWWWWWWWW!"

Salt twisted it further back, increasing the pressure. "I'm afraid that doesn't sound like a pig, Tech."

"AHHHH!" Sigil howled. "oink… oink…," he muttered.

"Not good enough." She wrenched his arm even further up his back. "Louder."

"OOOOOIINK! OIIIIIINNK! OOOOOOIIIINNNNKKKK!" Sigil snorted.

Salt snickered, hooking her leg in front of his and shoving him away. Sigil face planted onto the decking, moaning.

"That's better." She swaggered off.

As Sigil picked himself off the floor, he heard snickering nearby. Turning, he saw Hamilton coming out from behind the thick leg of the Atlas the Colonel and assigned him for the upcoming mission.

"I think she likes you, Sig," he smirked.

-

Shadowfax was enroute to the target, if the Overste was to be believed, a detention facility holding the leader of the Alshain People's Movement. She had her doubts, but at the least the Colonel had managed to get a flight of Corsairs to escort them. They both sported the gold rook on a field of blue, the insignia of Lindon's Company.

Captain Varukka Salt smiled. There were rumors going around that the Colonel and CO of Lindon's Company had something going on. Must be serious if she's loaning out a pair of aerospace fighters, she chuckled to herself. Combat always made for strange bedfellows. Still, it surprised her that the Colonel would involve himself in that way, then again, it's not like she was a subordinate. She ran her own mercenary unit.

Her communications officer interrupted her. "Captain Salt. I've got a pair of unidentified Shilones on long range. They appear to have originated from the target area."

Sure enough, a pair of red triangles appeared on her primary. Good thing Henley was such good friends with that Colonel. Looks like the Corsairs were going to see some action. "Two Shilones inbound. Assume hostile. Combat stations, weapons check, damage control teams on standby. This is the fun part."

"Sanchez, patch me into Romeo and Juliet." The two Lindon's Company aerospace fighter pilots were married to each other. Another odd arrangement. She'd never allow that kind of relationship between crew members on her ship. When things get tight, marriage tends to interfere with the kind of hard decisions required in combat situations.

"This is Captain Salt. We've got a flight of Shilones inbound."

"Acknowledged. I've got them on radar. You want us to go say hello?"

"Negative. Maintain formation. I've got a few things I want to say to them myself. Recommend you adjust altitude to give my boys a clear field of fire. Over."

"Sure thing Captain. I'll go up, Juliet down, and you can anchor the middle."

Standing next to Captain Salt, Colonel Jason Henley frowned. Aerospace fighters? Where had they launched from? The main action was taking place on the main continent, this was supposedly a remote outpost, a prison facility. His internal radar twitched. What didn't he know.

Salt turned him. "I suggest you buckle up, Colonel. It's going to get a bit bumpy in a minute."

-

The two Kurita Shilones split apart, rapidly gaining altitude as they approached the Shadowfax.

"Shadowfax here. Standby. We'll eat the first pass, then I want you up their tailpipes."

"Ten-four, Captain. But, don't feel like you have to leave us anything. Over," Romeo laughed.

The two Shilones came screaming down from above. Captain Salt held Shadowfax steady, trusting its armor to do its work. "Fire at will," she said simply, her hands wrapped like a vise around the control sticks.

LRMs crisscrossed the sky as the Shilones and Shadowfax opened fire on each other, followed first by Shadowfax's turret mounted PPCs, then by the Shilone's large lasers as they dived down.

The Dropship shuddered as missiles exploded and lasers scorched its armored surface, but Salt held steady. She'd been under fire before, and instead of trying to evade, she trusted her gunners to do their work. Besides, it wasn't exactly like the Shadowfax was maneuverable in atmosphere, anyway. It was nicknamed "The Brick" for good reason.

Then the Shilones were past, the two Cosairs in hot pursuit chasing them off. She checked her damage display. A few tons of armor had gone missing, but nothing serious. She allowed herself to relax just a bit.

"Sanchez, get me Romeo and Juliet."

The communications officer nodded. "Patched in, go ahead Captain."

"Don't you two go too far, there might be more where those came from. And I'm getting used to having you two around. Besides, I'd hate for the Colonel to have to be the bearer of bad news to your CO."

"This is Romeo. Acknowledged. We hit the control surface on one of those Shilones. You sure you don't want us to finish the job, Captain?"

Captain Salt paused, briefly considering. "Negative. Return to your stations. We'll deal with them if and when they come back around."

-

Sigil was sticking to Dawg like gum. Some forty plus soldiers, all in full sneak suits like himself, were swiftly approaching the mountain top detention facility. They had already mapped out their approach routes using the satellite imagery the Overste had provided them. Sigil eagerly scanned the rocky landscape for potential enemies.

Bingo! The infrared image enhancers made it all too easy to pick out the lance of Kurita 'Mechs on duty guarding the facility. They had given the lance out on patrol a wide berth, and passed the information onto the Colonel. A Locust, a Phoenix Hawk, and pair of Panthers.

He switched to low light mode, pushing the optical magnification to the maximum, then engaged the digital zoom. Well, well, well. A Wolverine, Blackjack, and Cicada. All easy IDs, but the fourth… what was it? Wait a minute. Wasn't that a Maltex chassis? Something tickled the back of his mind. He'd made it a point to study all the 'Mech manufactures that had been destroyed in the Succession Wars, orphaning their designs. It was a strange obsession with him, and one the reasons he was so thrilled to pilot the Clint. He winced, recalling how his Clint was unceremoniously heaped up in cargo storage aboard the Shadowfax, too badly damaged to be field repaired.

Andoran Industries, Stormvanger Assemblies, Kong Interstellar, Whitworth Company, Lantren Corporation, he knew them all. And what was that unit insignia? Wait a minute. Sigil froze. These weren't 6th Alshain Regulars. He stomach dropped. Oh shit.

He activated the built in sub-vocal micro communicator built into his suit. "Uhh… Dawg? Umm… these aren't 6th Alshain Regulars. Look at the unit insignia and paint job. This is one of the Ghost Regiments. I'm not sure which one, and uhh… I can't ID one of their 'Mechs. I'm pretty sure it's an old Star League model…" he trailed off.

-

Colonel Henley was swearing inside the cockpit of his 85-ton Battlemaster. A Ghost Regiment!? Here on Alshain!? Kerensky! But it did explain a lot. Like the surprising number of 'Mechs the 6th Alshain had put into the field to try to deny them an LZ. Or the multiple wings of aerospace fighters that had attacked them during planetfall and taken down the Newfoundland. Or, for that matter, the dogged tenacity with which the supposedly former Rasalhague Regular's MechWarriors had fought with against them.

"Major O'Mara," Henley called out to the man seated behind him in the console. "Infantry reports the facility is defended by one of the Kurita Ghost Regiments, not, repeat not, the 6th Alshain. You might want to the give the Overste a heads up. I think we've stumbled across a little secret here."

Henley hit his command frequency. "We're going to engage the light patrol lance. I want to confirm the infantry report regarding the presence of a Ghost Regiment. Infantry, hunker down and hold position. Acknowledge."

"This is Dawg. Acknowledged. We'll hole up until you give the command to proceed with the infiltration."

Chapter 9

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

-

Leutnant Hamilton throttled up his 100-ton Atlas. It was time to rock and roll. Their presence here was no longer a secret. His HUD showed two full lances moving to engage. He chuckled, they were over-confident moving out of the turrets LRM umbrella. They'd learn their mistake soon enough.

The Colonel confirmed it moments later. "Looks like our friends our organizing a welcoming party. All units engage. Dawg, we'll keep them occupied, proceed with the extraction."

Missiles, particle beams, lasers and autocannon fire thundered across the battlefield as the two opposing forces collided. Steadily, the assault 'Mechs of the 69th VXF forced the defenders back towards their mountain stronghold, littering the field with the smoking carcasses of their lighter opponents.

As they penetrated the defensive perimeter, the four weapons turrets began belching forth flight after flight of LRMs. Explosions erupted all around them as salvos of 80 missiles saturated the area.

"Colonel, we've breached the facility, entering now. Proceeding to the control center. No sign of prisoners. This does not, repeat not, appear to be a detention facility. More likely a command base of some kind. Sigil is now on eyes for you." Dawg reported.

The Colonel's Battlemaster was rocked yet again by another flight of LRMs from the turrets. "Neutralize those turrets ASAP!" He sent his sextet of Martells into a nearby Ghost Phoenix Hawk, sending it crashing to the ground.

"All units, advance on the mountain."

-

The fortified mountain suddenly shuddered, sending a shower of dirt and rock cascading down its side as it revealed its horrific secret. As the cloud of debris began to settle, the ancient eight-pointed insignia of the Star League was seen splitting apart in the middle as a pair of huge blast doors slid open.

Hamilton's AS7-D was already beat to hell. Between the constant rain of LRMs from the hardened turrets ringing the mountaintop keep and the Ghost Regiment 'Mechs defending it, he didn't think things could get much worse.

The intel the Colonel had gotten from the Overste was obviously wrong. This was no detention facility. The pair of heavy Shilone aerospace fighters that had appeared from nowhere to attack the Shadowfax should have been the first clue. The second, the presence of a ring of weapon turrets surrounding the small complex crowning the mountain. All doubt was now entirely dispelled by this latest surprise.

Hamilton was jerked back to the present as a torrid particle cannon blast ripped deep into his already ruined chest from a nearby Panther partially concealed among the rocks. He'd started ignoring the constant alarm klaxons what now seemed hours ago. 87% of his armor was gone, right arm destroyed, the left leg's upper and foot actuator non-functional, gyro and engine damage.

What he had left were two shots for his Deathgiver autocannon/20.

A LCT-1V Locust and a WVR-6K Wolverine raced past him as they began circling around towards his left flank. He slewed the targeting reticle over the Locust as it sought to speed past him. Six SRMs corkscrewed towards the speedy little 'Mech followed by his remaining forward facing Hellion-V medium laser, savaging its left side.

Then, the metallic buzzsaw of the Deathgiver ripped into the 20-ton 'Mech. Even undamaged, the light 'Mech simply couldn't survive a direct hit from the Deathgiver. The entire center of the 'Mech evaporated under the seemingly endless river of high explosive rounds. By the time Hamilton let up on the trigger, all that remained was the twitching left leg of the 20-ton war machine.

One shot left.

Hamilton's eyes scanned the battlefield in seconds. By the Usurper! What the hell is that! Emerging from the recently revealed blast door in the side of the mountain, a pair of 'Mechs materialized in the midst of the battlefield.

His comlink crackled to life. It was Weddle. "Nice knowing you boys! It's been a pleasure!"

Hamilton glanced up and to the right of his viewscreen. The Colonel's Battlemaster, Weddle's Warhammer, and Souther's Hatchetman were all clustered together, their backs against the hardened walls of the keep, blocking the line-of-sight of the remaining weapon turrets.

Amazingly, both the Colonel and Weddle's 'Mechs were worse off even than his own. The Colonel had shifted his 'Mechs detachable Donal PPC to his left hand. The entire right arm and torso were gone. The 'Hammer's chest was all but nonexistent. The entire 'Mech looked ready to simply collapse in on itself at the slightest touch. ******, he swore. It'd been factory new not six months ago! Hell if he'd ever let Weddle pilot his 'Mech again.

A damaged 80-ton HTM-27U Hatamoto-Hi, and another of those pesky Ghost alley cats were closing in for the kill.

Somehow, though, Southers has managed to keep his 45-ton Hatchetman intact, although it was missing about two-thirds of its armor. Sometimes it's nice to be the little guy. People always seem to aim for the biggest one first, Hamilton thought wryly.

Sigil's voice filled his cockpit. "Oh, I finally figured out what that 'Mech was you scrapped on the way here. A Wyvern. Last one rolled of the assembly line back in 2835! By the Usurper! Either I've died and gone to heaven, or that's a GLT-3N Guillotine sporting an SLDF Sixteenth Army paint job coming out of those blast doors! See that bloody two-headed battleaxe!? That's the 16th!"

Hamilton's eyes snapped back to the pair of 'Mechs emerging from the blast doors just over a hundred meters away from him.

Stephen Amaris! He blinked twice in rapid succession. The tell-tale searchlight mounted directly above the head and the distinctive shoulder flanges confirmed Sigil's guess. He'd seen holovids of a Guillotine before, but when was the last time someone had seen one in real life?

Emerging immediately behind it was one of the new Kurita Grand Dragons. Replacing the original Imperator-A autocannon/5 with a Lord's Light PPC had considerably increased the 'Mechs firepower. This particular one, however, was painted entirely flat black, and to make matters worse, it sported the stylized dragon insignia of the Draconis Elite Strike Team (DEST), a branch of the Combine's Internal Security Force.

OK, so they might all die after all. Hamilton gritted his teeth.

-

The Colonel knew they had already passed the point of the no return. He could have withdrawn in good order right after they'd discovered the target wasn't the detention facility they had been led to believe. But withdraw just wasn't in his vocabulary, the impossible had become routine, and his unit believed in his ability to turn even the most desperate situation into victory. Vega, Carbonis, and now Alshain. If he were going to pull it off again, it'd have to be right now. Or never.

Brevet Major O'Mara, KungsArme, screamed from the Battlemaster's command console directly above and behind him. The Overste has assigned him a babysitter Won't make that mistake again.

"Colonel! Unidentified 'Mech! Vector 15, range approximately 650 meters! It's emerging from another one of these ****** concealed tunnels! Scanners won't ID! Magscan shows assault class! No visual ID! I've never seen anything like it!"

Colonel Jason Henley's eyes drifted across Hamilton's ravaged Atlas, and then to the two undamaged Kurita 'Mechs emerging from the blast doors which lead into the mountainside. The fear of total failure galvanized his mind, and the spindly thread of a plan suddenly blossomed in his now racing mind.

" We're going to storm the castle! All units converge on the blast doors and get your ass inside ASAP! Once we're in, we'll drop the blast doors and lock those snakes right out of their own base!"

Leutnant Weddle opened his comlink. "My 'Hammer's shot, Colonel. Go, I'll cover you."

Souther's didn't waste a second. Before Weddle even finished, he'd slammed on his jumpjets, sending the Hatchetman leaping into the air, jets of fiery plasma streaming from its legs.

The Colonel rammed his throttle wide open, but the 85-ton behemoth struggling to get past 50 km/h as it lopped downhill. The left upper actuator was out causing the Colonel to fight every step of the way to keep the damaged 'Mech upright.

Weddle turned the remains of his Warhammer towards the Hatamoto-Hi, unleashing everything he had left as he staggered forward. The remaining Donal PPC, a Holly SRM-4, and a pair of Martell mediums lanced towards the damaged Kurita assault 'Mech.

The Hatamoto responded in kind with a quad of newtech Tronel XII medium pulse lasers.

As the Tronels coalesced on the 'Hammer, the 'Mech simply came apart. The structural integrity of the entire chassis destroyed. The 'Mech shredded, leaving nothing but an unidentifiable smoking heap of scrap.

The last volley from the doomed Warhammer proved equally deadly. The Donal PPC split open the chest of the Hatamoto, exposing the engine and the delicate gyro assembly to a bevy of short range missiles. The first warheads exploded against the sensitive internals of the 80-ton assault 'Mech, sending the gyro out of balance and causing it to grind itself into scrap against its own housing. Other warheads almost entirely destroyed the engine shielding causing the automated safeguards to instantaneously shut down the engine preventing the possibility of a catastrophic core meltdown.

The Hatamoto-Hi seized up, toppling stiffly to the ground with a thunderous crash as it slid partway down the slope in a cloud of smoke and dirt.

The Colonel fought to center his bouncing reticle on the back of the Star League Guillotine he was essentially charging from behind. His 'Mech too carried a Donal PPC, just like the Warhammer. One big difference though, his was detachable, and thank Kerensky for that. When he'd lost his right torso under withering LRM fire from the weapon turrets earlier in the engagement, he'd be able to retrieve the PPC and shift it to his still intact left arm.

Brevet Major O'Mara started screaming once again from the back of the cockpit. "The Hammers down! The Hammers down! So is the Hatamoto!"

The Colonel gave silent thanks as O'Mara's squallering was suddenly cut off by Leutnant Sigil's voice. "Colonel! I think I got an ID on that last 'Mech. It's a DCMS-MX90 Daboku. The snakes rolled it out in the War of 3039. It's a new design. 90-tons, a pair of large lasers, two LRM-10s, and four AC/2s. It's a sniper, built for fire support. First one I've ever seen, but this day is shaping up to have a lot of firsts…"

The Colonel closed on the blast doors, as he came within 90 meters of the back of the GLT-3N, he unleashed what was left of his weaponry. The Donal, four Martell mediums, and a Holly 6-rack.

A pair of the Martells opened a hole in the right rear torso, the other two failing to penetrate the rear armor of the vintage 'Mech. A trio of short range missiles exploded across its back as well, one of them finding the gap in the right torso. Sparks and coolant exploded out of the breech as heat sinks and one of the ExoStar II medium lasers were destroyed.

But it was the trusty Donal that did the real damage. The man-made lightning struck the Guillotine directly in the back of the head slagging armor and frying the sensitive targeting and tracking electronics with a surge of raw electricity effectively blinding the 70-ton 'Mech.

-

Leutnant Hamilton had never really appreciated just how much damage the 100-ton Atlas could take. Until now. The 19 tons of Durallex Special Heavy armor just seemingly ate up particle cannon, ballistic, energy, and missile damage endlessly. Even where the armor had finally been entirely destroyed, the 'Mech was so massive the internal structure itself could absorb considerable abuse before failing.

He'd not come all this way to fall now, just meters from the blast door. One shot left with the Deathgiver AC/20. Perfect. The Colonel was engaging the Guillotine, which left him the DEST Grand Dragon. One shot, one target.

The monstrous war machine lumbered forward, its left leg alternately jerking and dragging, leaving a deep furrow in the earth behind it.

Both the Guillotine and the Grand Dragon let fly with their full arsenal of weapons. The Dragon's particle cannon and mediums lasers jumped towards the approaching assault 'Mech, followed by the Guillotines heavy and medium lasers, plus its Conventry-6 missile rack.

Hamilton just laughed manically. It seemed almost ludicrous at this point to believe anything could bring the AS7-D down. It was an invincible angel of retribution, and he, the undisputed king of the battlefield. Any 'Mech who refused to acknowledge his superiority would be eviscerated. He could hardly believe the two Kurita 'Mechs would even dare shoot at him.

Time for them to pay homage to the king.

His reticle was centered on the black 60-ton Grand Dragon when he pressed the trigger. The Thunderstroke belched forth another salvo of six short range missiles as the remaining Hellion-V medium laser lanced ahead. He paused for a fraction of a second to savor firing the final round of the Deathgiver.

He fired the devastating autocannon at the same time as the enemy return fire stuck his 'Mech. The entire wire diagram of the AS7-D was already red, except for the right arm, which was black. Laser fire penetrated his 'Mech in multiple places as missile warheads exploded across it. The Dragon's particle cannon disappeared into his left torso, trashing the Doombud LRM-20, which had long since run of out ammunition anyway. The Atlas was a beast. An unstoppable force of nature.

He was a tsunami, an earthquake, a tornado. How could anything stand against him, he thought, as be pushed ahead directly towards the Grand Dragon.

The Deathgiver ripped mercilessly into the DRG-1G's right leg, stripping it entirely of armor with one single shocking strike, and damaging the supporting structure underneath.

Ironically, it was the single Hellion-V that made the difference. Slipping between the armor plates protecting the Dragon's left torso, it ended its voyage at one of the two ammunition bins for the 'Mech's Telos DecaCluster LRM-10.

The Grand Dragon shuddered briefly, the explosion first appearing on the left side, then ripping right through the middle of the 'Mech, before finally exploding in a multi-million C-bill shower of metallic detritus.

The way into the mountain was clear.

-

Tai-sa Hero Nikajima finally stopped firing the quad Imperator Smoothie-2 autocannons covering the chest of his assault 'Mech. With a range of over 700 meters, it was the longest-range weapon a Battlemech could carry. It was too little too late.

He slammed his fists down on the control surface of his Daboku as the huge bay doors of his now former headquarters slid closed behind the enemy Atlas.

"This is Tai-sa Hero Nikajima. I am assuming command of the 5th Ghost. Ryo, Shiro! Spread out and locate their DropShip! Emi, Fumiko! Circle outwards, I want to know if anymore DropShips are inbound!"

The Panther and damaged Wolverine began moving away in separate directions, away from the mountainside fortress, as the two heavy Shilone aerospace fighters began circling back and around.

The Tai-sa choked down his humiliation as he flipped the Cipher Security II communications system over to his command frequency.

"The enemy has launched a surprise attack against our command, control, and communications center. The gaijin mercenaries have temporarily gained access to the interior of the base. You have the honor of cleansing the facility of the foreign vermin. Rendezvous as soon as possible at coordinates 354.8 x 231.5."

Only a scant few seconds passed before he received his first response.

"This is Sho-sa Yuuki Shin. I declare katakiuchi against the mercenary force known as the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. As such, I claim the right to lead the initial assault against them by the rules of Kanrei. Loading operations are already in progress, estimate arrived at 07:30 LST."

Tai-sa Nikajima paused. Obviously Shin was eager. He was impressed at how quickly the commander had responded, and the speed with which he proposed to arrive.

Ah, yes. Shin had been defeated and left dispossessed by the 69th. Nikajima narrowed his eyes. In fact, the Atlas he had been firing on only moments before had been his commander's former 'Mech. It had been claimed as salvage by the invaders, repaired and sent back out adding further insult to injury.

Shin had every reason for revenge. Very well, he'll have his chance to regain his lost honor and end his humiliation.

"I grant your request, Sho-sa Shin, on one condition. Arrive by 7:30 LST or you forfeit your position to any unit who arrives before you."

Nikajima grinned. That ought to inspire his units to respond with the utmost speed. Nothing like a little competition to keep a fine edge.

-

"Got anything, Sanchez?"

"Nothing, Captain Salt. There is some kind of ECM field covering the entire target area. Our sensors can't penetrate it. It's like they just disappeared."

Sanchez pointed to huge black spherical area on the Shadowfax's long range scanner. "See? Nothing, zip."

Captain Varuka Salt turned. "Get Ling out in the Swift Wind. I need some eyes out there now! We're a sitting duck. I need to know what's the hell is going on out there!"

She turned back to Sanchez. "Keep your eyes peeled. Those two Shilone's are still out there somewhere. We got a few shots in on them, but they'll be back, I guarantee it. We'll just have to wait, see what Sanchez turns up."

Frustration was written all over her face. "Spanner, keep those weapon bays manned at all times."

-

"Ling to Shadowfax. I can't get a read on the target area! The CeresCom can hardly penetrate it! I got maybe 150 meters range as best! I'm as blind as you are!"

Salt slammed her fist on the back of Sanchez's chair. "What about visuals? Find some high ground! If the sensors won't work use your ****** eyes, Ling! Optical magnification should still work!"

Suddenly Sanchez stiffened. "Captain. Those two Shilones are circling back. They just popped back up on the long range scanners. Looks like their sweeping the area, each one on a different vector. It's just a matter of time until they spot us, Captain."

"Captain! The ECM field is down!" Ling's excited voice came bursting over the com speaker. I'm sending the feed over now!"

Sanchez's fingers flew over the console, routing the incoming data feed from Ling's Swift Wind scout car onto the main display.

The Colonel's voice abruptly filled the bridge of the DropShip. "We're going to storm the castle! All units converge on the blast doors and get your ass inside ASAP! Once we're in, we'll drop the blast doors and lock those snakes right out of their own base!"

Seconds later, Leutnant's Weddle's strangely calm voice followed, "My 'Hammer's shot, Colonel. Go, I'll cover you."

All eyes turned anxiously to the scanner feed from the scout car. The Colonel's Battlemaster, Hamilton's Atlas, and Souther's Hatchetman, all converging on same point, a Kurita Wolverine, Panther, Dragon, and three unidentified 'Mechs all moving to meet them. Weddle's 'Hammer was the only 'Mech not moving, and one of the unidentified Kurita 'Mechs was still a good 400 meters away.

The bridge went deathly silent as the eight points converged. The silence was broken by Brevet Major O'Mara voice from the command console of the Colonel's Battlemaster. "The Hammers down! The Hammers down! So is the Hatamoto!" Two of the indicators blinked out as the rest moved inexorably together.

Sigils excited voice broke in, interrupting O'Mara's and continuing the macabre play-by-play of the desperate struggle. "Colonel! I think I got an ID on that last 'Mech. It's a DCMS-MX90 Daboku. The snakes rolled it out in the War of 3039. It's a new design. 90-tons, a pair of large lasers, two LRM-10s, and four AC/2s. It's a sniper, built for fire support. First one I've ever seen, but this day is shaping up to have a lot of firsts…"

The audio was suddenly drown out by a series of deafening explosions followed by an ominous silence. Only red enemy indicators were left on the scanner. The Wolverine, Panther, and the now identified Daboku were all that was left. The Battlemaster, Atlas, and Hatchetman were all gone.

Ling's detached voice filled in the silence with two simple words. "Contact lost."

Spanner reached up, putting his rough calloused hand on Varuka's shoulder. "I bet those tough sonuvabitches made it in and dropped those doors."

Varuka stiffened. Her voice calm and emotionless. "Spanner, get down to the engine room. We're finished here." Her voice rose as she barked out her next orders.

"Prepare for immediate departure! Ling, stay hidden out there, we'll maintain contact from the air. Keep us updated. Those Shilone's are out hunting, and the only thing left on the field are hostiles. It's time to go."

She whispered softly to herself. "May Kerensky be with you, Colonel. Sorry."

-

Chapter 10

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Chapter 11

The control surface was smeared with the blood of the Ghost Regiment officer who had operated the console only moments before. In fact, most of the command center was splattered with blood. Here and there sparks popped as smoke whisped out of damaged electronics. Chairs were toppled and scattered about haphazardly, and still slick bloody trails marked where bodies had been hurriedly dragged out.

The Colonel strode directly into charnel house barking out orders non-stop. "Sigil! I want to know everything about this facility ASAP! Sallyports, defenses, communications, whatever you can dig up, especially where those two Shilones launched from!"

"Hamilton! Get back down to the 'Mech bays. Start slapping armor back on the Hatchetman! Get it back up to 100% ASAP. I need at least one functional 'Mech! The Battlemaster and Atlas are going to need replacement actuators as well as gyro and engine repair kits. I saw parts stockpiled in the bay when we passed through it. After your done with the Hatchetman, inventory the supplies. I need to know what we've got to work with. It's only a matter of time before the Ghosts come back with a vengeance. Probably only hours."

"O'Mara! Reorganize the infantry we've got left into five reinforced platoons. I know there are at least three functional weapon turrets. I want a platoon assigned to operate and defend each turret. Then I want you to personally lead a platoon and go up topside to search for Leutnant Weddle. I saw him eject before the 'Hammer went down. Leave the rest here to guard the command center and take care of the wounded, especially Dawg."

"McMillian! Take a couple men with you to where we're holding the Ghost command staff you captured. Interrogate them. I want to know everything they know. Whatever means necessary." The Colonel looked grim.

Sigil had just finished wiping the blood off the console, when the Colonel was over his shoulder.

"What have you got so far?"

"I just sat down and got the blood off, Colonel! By the Usruper, can I have at least a couple minutes!?"

Sigil could hear the Colonel grinding his teeth behind him, then he turned swiftly away, addressing McMillian once again. "Ernie, I'll go down with you and help with the interrogation."

-

Sigil's hands flew over the ancient Star League era control surface, text, tables and graphs scrolling down the screen as fast as he could scan through them.  
"by Alexandr Kerensky himself," he muttered to himself in disbelief. "Bergan Industries!?" The flow of data slowed, as Sigil began to read more closely. "No way this can be right!"

Bergan Industries was synonymous with the ubiquitous 20-ton Locust. In fact, the LCT-1V Locust was still being produced by Bergan right here on Alshain to this very day. Apparently four hundred ago, however, they used to be a major supplier to the Star League Defense Force. And it had little to do with the well-known Locust either.

Sigil was examining a wire diagram of a 60-ton Battlemech labeled as the CHP-1N Champion. It was rather squat and, lacking true arms, it gave the vague impression of an aerospace fighter that couldn't fly so someone had stuck a pair of legs on it. Actually, it looked more like the big ugly cousin of the Locust. Now that he thought about it, the Locust lacked arms too. What did Bergan have against arms anyway? He spun the 'Mech around in three dimensions as the technical specifications of the design scrolled down one side of the display.

Chassis: Bergan XI  
Power Plant: Vlar 300  
Maximum Speed: 86 kph  
Armor: 8 tons 2/Star Slab Ferro-Fibrous  
Armament:  
Lubalin Ballistics 10-X Autocannon  
Harpoon-6 SRM Launcher  
2 x Magna MkII Medium Lasers  
2 x Martell Small Lasers  
Communications: Garret T-11C  
Targeting and Tracking: Mercury-IV with Artemis IV FCS

The Locust used the Bergan VII Chassis. The Dragon, Marauder, and even the Atlas all used the Vlar 300 fusion engine. The Garret T-11A was used by the Rifleman, the T-11B by the Wolverine and Crusader, but he'd never heard of a "C" series of the T-11. The Magna and Martell lasers were still staples. And again the Crusader and Wolverine both used the Harpoon-6. That left the autocannon and T&T system. Hadn't heard of either of them before, and if there was one thing he knew, it was military hardware.

Lostech. Just within the last twenty years or so the Inner Sphere had finally begun to rediscover the military advances pioneered by the fabled Star League. And even then, most people credited the discovery of the Helm Memory Core for that, rather than any truly original research.

Mercury IV. Wonder what that's all about? Sigil's hands began dancing once again across the controls. New blocks of texts began sliding down the screen, followed by schematics and technical specifications. Meh. One primary, two secondary targets, no target or damage identification, not even a lock-on indicator. Ninety degree scanning arc, at least it all the scanning modes. Quite unimpressive. It made the modern day Thar-Hes T&T systems look good.

That's interesting though. The Mercury IV Fire Control System increases the accuracy of the Lubalin Ballisitics 10-X autocannon at every range, as well as extends the maximum effective range by a good 20%. The accuracy can be further increased by the use of cluster-type munitions which spread damage across multiple locations.

Lubalin Ballistics. Of course, the LB 10-X autocannon! Lizzie had one of those autocannons. The Mercury IV must have been integrated into the autocannon itself at some point later. The Hatchetman had originally used a TharHes Ares-8a targeting and tracking system. He'd have to circle back around to this at some later point.

How about this Artemis IV FCS? Again Sigil's hands flew over the control surface causing new pages of text to appear only to disappear almost as quickly as he sifted through enormous amounts of data. . Ahh. The Artemis IV Fire Control System. There were tons and tons of stuff about the Artemis online. Way more then there had been on the Champion or the Lubalin Ballistics autocannon. An intricate break out diagram of a dome shaped piece of hardware materialized on the screen along with detailed technical information.

A 35% increase in the accuracy of short and long range missiles? He whistled, as he quickly read on. The Artemis IV FCS illuminates targets with an infrared beam then sends missiles in-flight trajectory corrections via a tight-beam microwave communications link. The missiles themselves are fitted with an enhanced guidance package that allows bi-directional communication. Now that's impressive.

Numerous field-testing reports began filling the screen, sorted by date. Testing had begun late in 2601 and continued right up until 2784. Sigil paused. That would have been 259 years ago. The testing ended the same year as the Exodus, the fateful operation led by General Kerensky himself. The Exodus took over 80% of the Star League Defense Force out beyond the Periphery never to been seen or heard from again, and ultimately lead to the still ongoing series of wars, known as the Succession Wars.

The Valkyrie, Panther, Assassin, Whitworth, Wyvern, Centurion, Champion, Archer, and the Crockett had all completed field-testing. However, the last four lines had a different status. Interesting. The Bombardier, Guillotine, Thug, and the Highlander were all listed as "In Progress."

Sigil pulled up the field report on the BMB-12Db Bombardier. SLDF Royal engineers had modified the base design by pulling off the Arrowlite-4 SRM launcher, the Buzzsaw Anti-Missile System and replaced the original VOX 325XL with a Magna 260XL. With the weight savings they added the Artemis IV FCS to the two Delphinius-20 LRM launchers, doubled the ammunition capacity, added a pair of Magna medium lasers, and a pair of Defiance Streak-2 SRM Launchers.

The report was dated Jan. 3, 2784, only months before General Kerensky would give his famous one word order,"Exodus."

Sigil continued scanning through the report on the Bombardier. The accuracy of standard short and long range missiles are enhanced by the Artemis IV FCS. Swarm type sub-munition based long range missile accuracy is also increased by approximately 35%. However, the additional increase in missile accuracy is lost for those missiles missing their primary target and targeting an adjacent unit.

Regarding Thunder type sub-munition based long range missiles, Artemis IV FCS has no appreciable increase to its effectiveness. This is due to the fact that Field Artillery Scatterable Mines target a static physical location, rather than an active enemy unit.

Swarm long range missiles? Sub-munitions? Scatterable Mines? Thunder LRMs? Sigil's mind swam with the possibilities. What was this place, some kind of Star League proving grounds for new missile technologies? And why hadn't anyone heard of it before? The questions just kept piling on. And how did Overste Erling find out about it in the first place?

He flipped back through the navigational menus. If I could find the system access security logs maybe they might provide a clue. Bingo. System maintenance logs.  
Columns of time stamped data rolled down the screen. It took only a minute to find what he was looking for, a huge gap in the timestamps.

The system had been shut down the morning of July 8, 2784. The day of the Exodus itself. Incredible. Then he saw the answer on the very next line. The system has finally been restarted 258 years later on Oct. 19, 3042. Less than one year ago.

He paused, suddenly recalling the black Combine Internal Security Force Dragon Hamilton had slagged on the battlefield, what maybe two hours ago? Then the Draconis Elite Strike Team Dawg's infantry ran smack into when they first tried to take the command center. It had been the most gruesome fight Sigil had ever witnessed. The DEST commandos were both fanatical and suicidal. Sigil couldn't imagine a worse combination.

Capt. McMillian had blown the door with pentacycline, and Dawg was first through. Right into a hail of fletchette, ballistic, and laser fire. The huge giant of a man had gone down hard, his sneak suit riddled with holes, but it had been enough. The rest of his men poured in behind him, laying waste to just about everything in the center. The console he was sitting at right now was one of the few pieces of gear left operable.

But the most shocking part had been when the DEST commandos saw they wouldn't be able to hold the command center, they turned their weapons on their own fellow Combine officers. They killed almost every Ghost officer in the center. Only two survived, and both of them were badly wounded. They killed their own men even as Dawg's infantry moved in to finish them off. No quarter, no surrender. Sigil shuddered.

The ISF, DEST, the Ghost Regiment, must have all been dispatched, probably directly from Luthien, to assess the facility. Which explained why no one had even the slightest idea the Ghost was on planet when they landed. Totally secrecy. It still didn't explain how Overste Erling had come by the coordinates of it, though.

Sigil's eyes widened. The Guillotine. The SLDF paintjob. The field report. His hands flew over the control surface, pulling up the field tests of the GLT-3Nb Guillotine.

Again, the first thing that appeared was the SLDF Royal engineers report. The original 22 single heat sinks had been replaced with 15 double strength ones. A second Conventry-6 SRM had been added, and both launchers had been equipped with the Artemis IV Fire Control System. The original Sunglow large laser had also been replaced with a Tiegart Magnum Extended Range particle cannon.

He hurriedly read on. Ahh. The Pulsar Tri-X. The minimal scanning arc of the Pulsar Tri-X targeting and tracking system coupled with the absence of electromagnetic sensors has led to multiple instances of the loss of communication between the Artemis IV Fire Control System and the missile's guidance package. The problem is exacerbated in a target rich environment. Increasing the scanning width of the Pulsar Tri-X to 180 degrees only partially resolves the situation. The increased scanning range and the interface to the Artemis IV FCS require almost all of the available expansion ports in the Pulsar Tri-X. This upgrade, in turn, has led to rare instances of the targeting and tracking system experiencing periods of extremely high utilization during which the system is slow to respond and again causing loss of communication between the on-board missile guidance and the Artemis unit.

Sigil swiped backward on the control surface returning to the extensive list of field reports. Wonder what's up with the Thug?

Sure enough, another SLDF Royal engineer's report. Two heat sinks have been removed to make space for the Artemis IV Fire Control System now installed on both Bical-6 SRM Launchers. Both standard Tiegart particle cannons have been upgraded to the Tiegart Magnum Extended Range model. In addition, after extensive review of the Battlemech's combat record, the need for additional short-range firepower on an assault class unit was apparent. The original 15.5 tons of Mitchell Argon armor was reduced to 13.5 tons and a pair of Magna Mk II medium lasers installed in the center torso. Initial field testing indicates significant heat buildup caused by prolonged use of the Tiegart Magnum particle cannon impairs combat efficiency during protracted battles. Given the addition of the Magna Mk II lasers, one possible solution is to return to the original Tiegart particle cannon since the redesign has significantly more short-range firepower.

That leaves the 90-ton Highlander. Sigil still remembered seeing Rhonda Snord cresting the hill back on Vega in her HGN-732 Highlander. It was one of the most awe inspiring sights he'd ever seen. It was also the first time he'd ever seen the devastating M-7 Gauss Rifle. As he understood it, it used a series of capacitor-powered electromagnets to propel solid nickel-iron slugs at incredible velocities. It hit one and half times harder than a standard particle cannon and it had a range greater than even long range missiles. A weapon to rule any battlefield.

He pulled up the rendering of the HGN-732b. One of the largest 'Mechs ever manufactured, it looked deadly, even more so then the vaunted ASD-7 Atlas which had actually been designed to look fearsome and outweighed it by a good 10 tons.

Once again the Royal engineers had been at work, improving an already well respected design. Two heats had been removed to make space to add the Artemis IV FCS to both the Holly-20 and Holly-6 missile launchers. A ton of ammo for the Holly-6 had been swapped out for an additional Harmon Starclass medium laser, and the remaining ten heat sinks all upgraded to the double strength. Then it got interesting.

After extensive battlefield analysis, the HGN-732 regularly engages multiple targets simultaneously. This is primarily due to the weapons loadout which features a series of optimal range points, beginning at 630 meters and steadily increasing to 180 meters, where it finally begins to plateau. If physical damage potential is added, the resulting damage curve is unique. The design is equally deadly in every range category and matches or exceeds the curve of every existing Battlemech design in production across the board.

To further enhance this characteristic, the Starlight LX-1 targeting and tracking system has been replaced by the Army Comp Type 29K. The Type 29K allows for up to four primary targets, and a single secondary target. In addition, it has twice the scanning width of the Starlight while maintaining the same lock-on range. The Army Comp Type 29K is highly expandable, and even after adding the Artemis IV interface modules the system maintains solid performance and acceptable utilization levels.

"Leutnant Sigil! What in the hell are you doing!" The Colonel's voice exploded from directly behind Sigil's back, causing him to jump up awkwardly, hitting his thighs against the console, and sending him stumbling backwards into the Colonel. Slipping on the blood stained floor, the Colonel and Sigil both tumbled to the ground.

Sigil clambered quickly back to his feet. "Uh… sorry Colonel. You surprised me…," he trailed off lamely as the Colonel regained his feet, smoothing his uniform back out as he rose.

The Colonel's eyes flared and bored into him, grim and furious. "Report, Lt. Sigil."

"Uh.., yes, sir. Colonel sir. Report, sir," Sigil blinked back at the Colonel.

The Colonel's voice boomed through the command center, reverberating off the walls. The few other troopers in the room turned their eyes towards the Colonel shifting uncomfortably, then looked quickly away. "HAVE YOU FOUND OUT ANYTHING USEFUL? COMMUNICATIONS? DEFENSES? ANYTHING AT ALL!?"

Then the Colonel hit his stride. Spittle flew from his lips, and his face purpled like an approaching thunderstorm as he raged on. "Let me remind you of the situation, Lt. Sigil. We are in possession of a highly valuable enemy C3 facility. Lt. Hamilton is bolting armor onto a 45-ton 'Mech so we can have at least ONE FUNCTIONAL 'MECH with which to attempt some semblance of a defense with. Capt. Dawg is critically injured, Lt. Weddle is MIA and his Warhammer is destroyed, my Battlemaster and Lt. Hamilton's Atlas are basically scrap. We have a reinforced squad of infantry scattered in small groups throughout the installation. We have no communications capability with which to attempt to contact friendly units. And the Ghost Tai-sa is no doubt, even ask we speak, CALLING DOWN HELL UPON US, from his 90-ton Daboku right outside. NOW, DO YOU HAVING TO REPORT LT. SIGIL!"

"Yes, sir. It appears this facility was an SLDF proving ground for advanced fire control systems, in particular a missile based system codenamed Artemis IV. I've located block diagrams, wiring schematics, and manufacturing blueprints for it, as well as field testing reports for over a dozen different models of 'Mechs. The SLDF sent 'Mechs here to be retrofitted and tested with the Artemis IV system. Royal engineers would modify the 'Mechs then conduct live fire tests of the upgraded units."

Sigil rattled on. "Before the Succession Wars, Bergan Industries, right here on Alshain, produced a 60-ton 'Mech called the Champion which was equipped with the Artemis IV FCS. Apparently Bergan pioneered the system for use on its Champion around 2600. It was the first 'Mech designed from the ground up to use it. It turns out the Champion also used the Lubalin Ballistics 10-X autocannon, which had its own advanced fire control system, the Mercury-IV. The Artemis IV increases missile accuracy by roughly 35%. The Mercury-IV increases the accuracy and range of ballistic weapons by about 20%."

Sigil paused. For some reason the Colonel looked utterly unimpressed.

The Colonel began responding in a dangerously low voice. "Thank you for that history lesson, Leutnant. Now would you please explain HOW IN THE HELL THAT IS USEFUL TO US RIGHT NOW!"

The Colonel growled angrily. "Leutnant. I will be back here in 5 minutes. If you don't have something useful to report by then, so help me Kerensky, I will strip you naked and send you streaking out across the battlefield as a diversionary tactic. Is that understood?"

Sigil bolted upright, hastily snapping a lopsided salute. "Yes, sir! Understood, Sir! Five minutes, sir!"

He turned back to the console just as O'Mara came sprinting back into the command center, barely just skidding to a stop before the Colonel.

Breathless, he reported. "Colonel, sir! The Daboku! It just took out turret #3! Those quad Imperator Smoothie-2 autocannons, sir, their range is incredible! Longer than the LRMs! It was stationed over 700 meters away and laid a stream of slugs that just ate right through the turret. There wasn't anything we could do, sir! The LRMs are only good out to a maximum of 630 meters! We had to abandon the position, sir."

Sigil swiveled his chair around. "Colonel, sir, about the communications. It just occurred to me the Army Comm. Class 5 in Hamilton's Atlas has limited ground to space communication capability. I'm pretty sure I saw an elevator in the 'Mech bay when we passed through. If you could get it topside, I bet you could get a signal out. All the com gear in here is shot up pretty bad, and we took out the transmitter during the assault to drop their ECM field. I don't think we'll be able to get it back online any time soon, Colonel. The Atlas is your best bet, at least in the near term. The HartfordCo Com 4000 in your Battlemaster might work too in a pinch, but it isn't nearly as powerful as the Class 5."

The grim faced Colonel looked back at O'Mara. "Brevet Major, with me. It's time we have a few words with your boss, the Overste."

-

Chapter 11

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Once Capt. Salt had the Shadowfax airbourne once again, she turned it around, heading back towards the KungsArme headquarters.

"Sanchez, open a comlink to the HQ. The Colonel's gonna need some backup, assuming he's still alive." Salt pursed her lips tightly.

He better still be alive. She had taken one look at the Overste's orders, and it looked like a suicide mission to her. Assaulting a heavily fortified defensive position, guarded by a reinforced company of 'Mechs with a single lance. It certinaly wasn't her idea of a good time.

It was insanity. She could hardly believe the Colonel had even agreed to go. Contract be damned, she would've been outta there. The Overste obviously had no regard for the 69th, it was just another pawn to be sacrificed on the field so his 2nd Drakon could advance.

"KungsArme HQ on the line, Captain. Löjtnant Endre."

"This is Captain Varuka Salt, 69th Virginia Expeditionary, inbound. Tango Alpha Foxtrot. Transmitting IFF codes now."

There was a short pause.

"Identity confirmed, Capt. Salt. You may continue on your current heading. We've got a CAP up, once they have visual confirmation, they'll escort you. Welcome back."

The disembodied voice on the other end chuckled. "You just made me a rich man, Captain Salt. The pool was 10-to-1 odds against your return."

"Don't count your winnings yet, Lt. The target had a huge ECM field covering it. We deployed our Swift Wind, but by the time the ECM field went down, we only caught a few brief communiqués from the Colonel before we lost contact. Then we were forced to take off by a pair of Shilones and a lance of Ghost Regiment 'Mechs. Standby, we're transmitting the full report now."

-

Overste Anders Erling was in his stateroom aboard his Overlord class DropShip, mulling over the report from Captain Salt and the recent supposed Ghost Regiment activity, when his XO, Gunnar Holdar entered.

"Overste. Colonel Jason Henley of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary just made contact."

Erling stood up immediately, making his way the short distance to the bridge, Holdar following in his wake. The Colonel's grim face filled one of the primary displays.

"Colonel Henley. Report."

"We are in possession of a DCMS command, control and communications facility. The fortified facility is not, repeat not, a detention facility. There is no sign of any prisoners, nor we were able to locate The Silver Fox. We believe the installation is a Star League Defense Force advanced fire control systems research facility. We encountered a GLT-3N Guillotine in the olive drab of the SLDF bearing 16th army insignia. We engaged a reinforced company of Ghost 'Mechs, including an ISF unit, and encountered a DEST inside the facility itself."

Erling hid his surprise well. "Combat readiness status?"

"Lt. Weddle's 'Hammer was destroyed in the assault and he is still MIA. My Battlemaster and the Atlas are both crippled. Only Lt. Souther's Hatchetman is fully functional. The infantry have been reduced to approximately a single squad. We have barricaded ourselves into the facility itself. The presumed Ghost commander, piloting a 90-ton Daboku, and two other Kurita 'Mechs are still outside. A pair of Shilones is likely still out there somewhere as well. We request immediate relief forces. We can't hold this facility with one 'Mech and a squad of infantry, Overste." The Colonel face was etched with anger.

Erling took little notice of the Colonel's short, clipped report and continued on.

"Colonel, I don't know anything about this supposed 'Ghost Regiment'. What I do know is that the 6th Alshain are mobilizing and withdrawing from their positions on our flanks. It now seems likely they intend to retake your position. This represents the best chance Task Force Fenrir is going to get to take Silverdale, our primary objective. You are to hold the facility until you receive further orders. Your Dropship is inbound to our LZ. Your request for additional forces is denied. All available units will support the assault on the primary objective. Once we've secured Silverdale, HQ will notify you and you can have your DropShip extract your unit."

Brevet Major O'Mara's voice suddenly broke into the conversation. "Overste Erling! This facility is priceless! The data and equipment housed here are invaluable! In addition, it offers a fortified position, repair facilities, parts stockpiles, everything we need to secure a strong foothold on planet. I recommend we reinforce this position as soon as possible!"

Overste Erling looked annoyed. "Brevet Major, apparently I need to remind you of the objective of this campaign. The 2nd Drakon is here to take the planet, not some long deserted SLDF supply dump. Positioning ourselves in a remote sector on the secondary landmass does little to advance our real mission. Taking the capital city, the StarPort, and the HPG facility, however, does. You have your orders. Now, I have an assault to prepare. Dismissed."

Overste Erling Anders motioned to the communications officer to cut the comlink, as he turned to his XO.

"Assemble all the unit commanders, and notify me immediately once they're gathered. I've got a plan." He smiled, a jump in his step, as he returned to his stateroom.

-

Brevet Major O'Mara stared at the black screen where the Overste had appeared only seconds before. "…I can't believe it…"

Colonel Henley flipped the crippled Atlas's Army Comm Class 5 off. The small satellite dish on the side of the Atlas's head began collapsing and folding in on itself before stowing itself away in an armored compartment specially built to protect it.

"Believe it, Major. Overste Ander Erlings is an idiot." He paused for a long second. "Sigil better have turned up something useful by now, or we're all going to die."  
Henley checked Atlas's Type 26K scanners out of habit. "I've got a reading on the motion sensors. Small, might just be an anomaly. Punching it up on optical now."

Henley looked over at one of his secondary displays, punching up the magnification. A haggard figure in a torn cooling vest stumbled out from the behind the rubble of one of the destroyed turrets.

With a sharp intake of breathe, the Colonel recognized Lt. Jochen Weddle from his shock of blond hair. "Kerenesky! Lt. Weddle made it after all! Open the cockpit, let's get him down to medical. He looks rough."

A few minutes later, O'Mara was helping Weddle into the Atlas's now cramped cockpit.

"Sorry, Colonel," Weddle began explaining, "between the neural feedback from the 'Hammer going up and the force of the ejection and subsequent landing, I was knocked clean out. As it is, I feel like I've been ridden hard and hung up wet."

"I'll have Capt. McMillan's medtech give you the once over. If we're going to survive the next 24 hours, we're all going to be pushing our limits."

The Atlas slowly turned, limping back into the elevator for the ride back down.

-

Overste Anders looked up as Colonel Sarah Lindon strode briskly into his stateroom.

He tossed his data pad onto his desk. "That's right Colonel Lindon. Request denied."

Putting both hands on his desk, Sarah leaned over fixing him with her flinty gaze. "That's bullshit, Colonel! You can't strand the 69th out there like that!"

Overste Erling leaned forward, his face now only inches from Lindon's. "I'm going to speak frankly, and off the record, Colonel Lindon. I don't have to like every decision I make. But I still have to make them. As a commanding officer I expect you to understand and respect that. We're both well aware of our precarious position here. The 69th has given us a real opportunity to pull this rabbit out of the hat, and I mean to take it. And that means I need every available unit. Every last one. All out on the field supporting the upcoming attack on Silverdale. Then, maybe, just maybe, we stand a chance of pulling this off."

Refusing to so much as twitch, Lindon rolled on. "You're holding their DropShip hostage. You're leaving them to die, Colonel Erling. You're sacrificing them."

Their faces locked together, Erling spat out his response. "This is war, Colonel Lindon. People die. It's my duty to take this planet for the Free Rasalhague Republic and to minimize my combat losses while maximizing those losses to my enemy. Officer Candidate School Lesson #1. Now if you're done throwing your little tizzy fit, I suggest you return to your unit and prepare them for the upcoming operation. Dismissed."

"Damn you to hell, Anders. I'll never work for the KungsArme again!" Colonel Sarah Lindon twirled suddenly, slamming the portal to his office shut as she stormed out.

-  
Ah, the rewards of a misspent youth. Any system is only as secure as its weakest link. Sigil had learned that back in his days at Sanglamore. The layout of any military facility was always a closely guarded secret. But the maintenance techs still had to know where to go to fix things when they broke or needed replacement.

And what is the one thing everybody needs? Air.

Sigil grinned as he pulled up the HVAC diagrams of the installation. Ducting schematics, air handlers, vents, returns, heat exchangers, it was practically the entire layout of the facility if you knew how to read it. You could even guesstimate the rough dimensions of a space by looking and the size and number of vents and returns. Cross-reference that with the diameter of the ducting and the rate of flow, compare that to standard turnover rates, and you get a pretty good idea of its size.

And since the maintenance techs took care of the day-to-day, they needed access to this kind of documentation. And it was a rare custodial tech that had a decent security clearance. Apparently, some things hadn't changed in the past 300 years. Thank Kerensky! Sigil laughed. Talk about irony.

It only took a cursory examination to locate the main 'Mech bay. What he was really looking for were any hallways large enough to accommodate the passage of a 'Mech. Mmmhmm. There, there, there, and more still. Wow, there was actually quite a few.

That must be the main set of doors where we entered. And this one, one of the concealed passages the Daboku sprung out of. And that one looks like it heads towards turret #3. There must be another hidden door somewhere near that turret.

All in all he counted six different passages out of the facility. Given what he'd seen during the assault, you could bet they were all cleverly camouflaged. No doubt, the Colonel would appreciate knowing about these.

"In Progress." And the appearance of that SLDF Guillotine. Sigil's mind spun and twirled like an acrobat with possibilities. If I was the Star League commander, where would I store working prototypes? I'd need them to be close to the main 'Mech hangar, and I'd require a specially equipped laboratory for the outfitting, testing, and analysis. And I'd have to strictly control access.

Sigil began to systematically spiral out from the 'Mech bay. Page after page of detailed HVAC blueprints flashed by his screen. Suddenly the screen flashed red and a system prompt appeared. "Authorization Required." Bingo. That had to be the Royal Engineers laboratory.

He spun his chair around, yelling. "Hey Ernie, grab some of you men and follow me down to the hangar. I need you to check out something for me."

-  
Hamilton was busy with the thermal welder, cutting out plates from slabs of armor when Sigil came up behind him. The armor looked odd. It wasn't solid plating, but looked to be three layers all sandwiched together. Definitely thicker and bulker too.

"Hey, Hamilton! What are you doing? Slapping industrial armor on the Hatchetman!? Kerensky, are we that desperate?"

Hamilton flipped up his welding helmet, shrugging. "To be honest, I've got no idea. It was labeled as 'Grumman-3." It's as close to armor as I could find, so how about you stop complaining, and give me hand instead. Get up and there and give me the dimensions for the next plate. This stuff is a real pain in the ass the cut."

With that, Hamilton snapped his visor down, and continued to cut.

Sigil looked around for Capt. McMillian. "Hey Captain, I'm gonna give Hamilton a hand with the armor before he totally screws it up. Go on ahead, I'm sure we'll still be here when you get back."

McMillian turned, four of his men following behind him, and disappeared into one of the many wide passageways leading out of the hangar.

-

As McMillian led the way down one the cavernous passageways leading out of the hangar, he couldn't help but to reflect on their current situation. He'd been in lots of tight spots before during this time in the Infantry Corps of the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces, but this might arguably be the worst yet.

It was just a matter of time before the Dragon came back to reclaim its lair. That they would, he had no doubt. That they would succeed, he had no doubt either. The only question that remained is would he survive its fiery return.

He'd been fighting a battle within himself about it. Smart money would be to load up all the remaining 69th personnel, abandon the base, and make a dash for it. Of course that would mean leaving all the 'Mechs behind. Mech jocks were real particular about their hardware.

-

Chapter 12

Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Tai-sa Nikki Samoro smiled grimly in the cockpit of her 100-ton KGC-0000 King Crab. She could hardly believe her luck. The foolish 2nd Drakon commander was advancing on the city.

Hojitsu Nakamoto had ordered her entire company painted to appear like units from the 312th ComGuard Division. Most of the other units in the 5th Ghost had been painted to match the 6th Alshain garrison forces. But not hers. She had an unusual number of Star League 'Mechs, ironically provided by ComStar itself as part of deal arranged by the Kanrei. Sure they didn't have the lostech, but they were tough machines, and sure to throw the enemy into confusion.

"All units, maintain formation and follow me. Complete radio silence. Do not, repeat do not, activate communications or fire until I give the order."

-

From the cockpit of his Zeus, Overste Anders Erling was looking at the skyline of Silverdale for the second time. His XO, Overste-Lojtnant Gunnar Holdar, stood next to him in his battle scarred Victor, the Pontiac 100 still smoking from the Crusader that had ventured a bit too close and gone up like a roman candle. Bristling with missiles and machine guns, the Crusader was like a 65-ton walking ammunition bin. And the Pontiac could penetrate just about anything with a single shot.

"Gunnar, fortune favors the bold, my friend. All units advance on the city."

The Overste lived for battle. Like his Viking forbearers, he lived for the glory of the battlefield, to cut down the enemy like wheat before a scythe, and take what they were too weak to hold. To kill, plunder and revel in blood.

Between the 6th Alshain losses at the LZ, and the units that had withdrawn to retake the command center taken by the mercenaries, there couldn't be more than a battalion left to defend the city. It was ripe for the plucking.

He throttled his Zeus up and entered the city proper.

6th Alshain Panthers sniped at his approaching unit, as the Jenners rocketed back from their rooftop positions, disappearing into the urban landscape. They were falling back already. He sent his Lightning Strike PPC and Thunderbolt large laser streaking after one of the Drac Alley Cats. Sparks flew from the machine's left torso, as it jumped down from its perch, seeking cover.

He'd take the StarPort in no time.

-

Captain Ernie McMillian was stunned. And he couldn't remember that last time that had happened. Not after everything he'd done and been through running Black Ops for the Lyrans. But this, this was unbelievable.

A huge cavernous chamber opened up before him. Even his powerful search lights couldn't penetrate the incredibly high ceiling. But what it did illuminate was more than enough to take his breathe away.

The metallic skin of a small spheroid Dropship reflected his lights back at him. It bore the insignia and paint scheme of the long lost Star League Defense Force. McMillian gave a low whistle. A concealed AeroDome.

His small force spread out behind him, their lights sending beams of light stabbing through the darkness, revealing treasure after treasure. The towering forms of a Highlander, Thug, and a Bombardier loomed near the open 'Mech bay doors of the DropShip. One of the four doors did not have a sentinel standing guard by it.

He shifted his spotlight to the floor. Heavy foot traffic was obvious in the thick layer of dust which covered most of the floor. As he walked he could see where a 'Mech had transversed the cavern as well from the unguarded DropShip door. Suddenly, he recalled Sigil calling out he'd spotted a Guillotine in SLDF colors during the battle earlier that day. It must have come from here.

He activated his personal communicator. "Colonel, McMillan here. I think I just found us a way out. You won't believe what I'm looking at right now."

-

Kapten Christopher Peat blinked repeatedly in the cockpit of his CPLT-C1 Catapult. The Overste had tasked what was left of his battalion to defend the DropShips while the rest of the 2nd Drakon assaulted Alshain's capital, Silverdale. Major Dannock had been killed aboard the Newfoundland when they had made planet fall, and so the command had passed to him.

He screwed up his face in anger, remembering how poorly his command had fared during the initial defense of the LZ. They'd broken and run, only to be rallied by the mercenary commander of Lindon's Company. No doubt that was why the Overste had denied him a role in the assault on the city and left him here to babysit the unit's DropShips. It was akin to being told to feed and water the horses.

And now this. A dozen ComGuard 'Mechs were advancing on his position. The Overste had been perfectly clear on this point. "Under no circumstances will you engage any ComGuard unit nor enter the grounds of the HyperPulse Generator. Let me repeat that. Do not engage any ComGuard unit, nor approach the HyperPulse Generator. Period. No exceptions. If you believe you taking fire from a ComGuard unit, you will not return fire. You will disengage and report the incident immediately up the chain of command."

He shifted nervously in his command couch as the ComGuards continued their advance. What were they doing out here, anyway? Weren't they stationed at the HyperPulse Generator?

It was like watching an old holovid about the Succession Wars. The 'Mechs were all old Star League models, each one of them a rarity on the modern battlefield. He knew them all by their reputation, had seen a few of them in real life, but never this close. They approached in two groupings of six.

An enormous King Crab, flanked on either side by a Crockett, Guillotine, Champion, Lancelot, and a Kintaro made up the lead element. Behind them, led by a Black Knight, were a Wyvern, Sentinel, Hermes, Mongoose, and a Thorn. But, his eyes kept snapping back to the dual Deathgiver AC/20's in the King Crab's thick arms. He shuddered involuntarily. There was something about facing a 'Mech with two AC/20's that was just utterly terrifying.

Ok, they had gotten close enough. He activated his comlink. "This is Kapten Christopher Peat, 2nd Drakon, KungsArme, Free Rasalhague Republic. You are entering a restricted area, please identify yourself and state your intent."

The ComGuard units simply continued their advance. Kapten Peat felt the first twinges of panic setting in. Hastily flipping his O/P Com-211 to the command frequency, he sent out an alpha priority communique. "This is Kapten Christopher Peat. I have two level II ComGuard formations advancing on my position. They are not responding to calls. Please advise ASAP, over."

-

Overste Anders Erlings was screaming into his com. "What do you mean you've lost contact with 3rd Battalion!? ComGuards?! What the hell are you talking about!?" He snapped off another hasty shot with his Lightning Strike PPC at a 6th Alshain Dragon. Abrutply, the city was crawling with 6th Alshain 'Mechs. They were boiling out of nowhere like ants from a nest. His Zeus was rocked by another PPC bolt from one of the Panthers which suddenly seemed to appear on every rooftop in the entire ****** city. He sent his Coventry Star Fire LRM arcing down towards it, as it leapt nimbly over to the next rooftop.

There were targets everywhere. A Kurita Wolverine appeared around the corner, sending its Whirlwind autocannon chewing away at his quickly evaporating armor. He responded with his large laser, as the 'Mech quickly retreated back around the corner.

Gunnar Holdar's calm voice broke into the dim of battle. "Overste. We are in danger of being overrun, surrounded and cut off. We are outnumbered and the landing zone has been compromised. I recommend an immediate strategic withdraw."

The Overste's fist came crashing down against the control surface of his 'Mech, the thought of retreat bringing the bitter taste of bile to his mouth. One glance at his tracking system revealed the undeniable truth of the XO's assessment of the situation. Their current position was untenable. They'd be reduced to razor blades if they continued their push into Silverdale. As it was, getting back out would be challenge enough.

His com sprung to life again, this time on his private frequency, as the bad news continued unabated. "Overste, this is Major D'talia. Kapten Peat's position has been overrun. Unconfirmed ComGuard units have penetrated the landing zone. An unknown number of additional 6th Alshain forces are approaching the LZ from the west, estimated strength two companies. Additional unconfirmed reports of units bearing the insignia of the 5th Ghost Regiment on the eastern flank. Request additional support."

He growled into his comlink. "This is Thor, all units withdraw to the landing zone. Our work here is done. Deploy aerospace assets. Prepare DropShips for immediate departure."

-

Chapter 13

Nadir Point  
Alshain  
3043  
Draconis Combine

Overste Anders Erling entered Colonel Jason Henley's quarters aboard Juliet, the Star League Confederate class DropShip the 69th VXF had used to withdraw from the mini Castle Brian on Alshain. The assembled forces of Task Force Fenrir were preparing to make the first jump on their way back to Rasalhague after failing to take Alshain from the Draconis Combine.

The Colonel's stateroom was unusually spacious for such a small DropShip. In fact, the Overste found the facilities rivaled those of his own Overlord class. A model of military efficiency, the Confederate not only offered extensive repair facilities, including cargo cranes, myomer and electronic testing equipment, but also two multi-purpose bays capable of carrying additional Battlemechs, Aerospace fighters, or straight cargo. It could easily accommodate six Battlemechs and still have space for additional armor and infantry. Armed exclusively with energy weapons, it could sustain fire indefinitely, a fine example of Star League engineering.

Colonel Henley motioned the Overste into a nearby chair and waited.

Erling sat down, his eyes scanning the Colonel's stateroom. Spartan and impeccably clean. When had he found the time to take the Confederate out of mothballs? Only a slightly stale tinge to the air belied the fact the Confederate hadn't seen action for over 200 years. Unless maybe the Dracs had cleaned up it already. They must have known it was there, right? He'd made a mental note to double check with O'Mara on that.

The Overste's steely gaze met the Colonel's cold look.

"I know your type, Colonel. A young, cocky, brash, hot shot still convinced of their own invincibility. Ready to take on the entire Inner Sphere and win. I'm going to let you in a little bit of wisdom, Colonel. Men like you may win battles, but men like me win campaigns. And let me tell you how I intend to win this one."

Overste Anders Erling waved his hand, motioning all around him. "This Dropship, the Highlander, Thug, and the Bombardier, by the book, it's all salvage. Everything you took out of that SLDF base that you didn't have when you went in, it's salvage. And I'm sure I don't need to remind you that I hold exchange rights on all of it. Furthermore, Major O'Mara provided me with a full inventory of everything you took. Including the copies of the SLDF engineering reports."

Colonel Henley's eyes tightened.

"Now before you start jumping to conclusions, Colonel. I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do, and how I'm going to turn this entire boondoggle into a rip roaring success."

He paused, unflinchingly holding the Colonel's flinty gaze as he continued. "And how you're going to help me do it."

"When we arrive on Rasalhague, I'm going to land in this Confederate. Then, I will emerge from the bay doors in that HGN-732b Highlander. I will be flanked by Major O'Mara in the Thug, who officially led the assault which the captured the SLDF facility, and my own XO in the Bombardier."

Anders grinned widely. "One helluva photo-op don't you think, Colonel? It'll look like the second ****** coming of the Star League!"

"Next, I will announce the successful recovery of a cache of Star League lostech from Alshain. From right under the noses of those snakes no less. I'll present a copy of the memory core you retrieved to the Command Council."

"The planetary assault was just a smoke screen, Colonel. Masking the true nature of our objective. The SLDF facility."

Erling held his hand up. "I know what you're thinking, Colonel. What's in it for me. I'm a reasonable man. Naturally, you'll receive full pay for your contract. In addition, your unit will receive a commendation for its performance, including an honorary rank in the KungsArme and the presentation of ceremonial swords and at an official ceremony hosted at the Citadel on Rasalhague. All of this will be reflected in your unit's official profile on file with the Mercenary Review Board, significantly increasing your unit rating."

"Now, as much as you may believe I'm a heartless, cruel old sonuvabitch, I'm not. Regarding your exchange rights, I'll give you a Union class DropShip in exchange for both your current Leopard and the Confederate you heisted from the base. Twenty million C-bills for two of the three SLDF 'Mechs you recovered, and I'll let you keep one, your pick. You'll be a wealthy man, with the means to grow your unit, and the transport capacity to carry them."

"What do you say, Colonel?"

-

Colonel Henley's eyes had not blinked, nor had they broken contact with the Overste's gaze since he sat down across from him. He leaned slightly forward, and with both hands he reached out to the edge of the desk in front of him, grasping it firmly with the tips of his fingers. His posture, and his uniform, was as impeccable as his newly earned quarters. There was an uncomfortable silence as he weighed his response. He could feel his blood-pressure rise as he processed the Overste's proposition.

Men under his command had lost their lives during the assault on Alshain, others seriously injured, all because of the incompetence of the man sitting in front of him. As if that wasn't enough, he'd abandoned the 69th VXF, including members of his own KungsArme, at the mini Castle Brian as a battalion of the Ghost marched to retake it.

The 69th, comprised of four 'Mechs, and a pair of infantry squads, had managed to take the Star League complex from an entire company of Combine forces.

The Overste had failed at every step of this campaign, whether it was intel, planning, tactics, or, honor.

With the tips of his fingers he pushed his chair back from the desk and stood upright, as if he was inspecting troops. His movement was slow, smooth, and deliberate. The Overste's head tilted back so that he could keep eye contact with the Colonel's imposing gaze.

With both hands the Colonel tugged the bottom of his field jacket, ensuring that it was perfectly flush against his chest and abdomen. He then leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk between them. His weight rested on the tips of his fingers, as if he was preparing to vault across the desk at the Overste. The Overste's eyes widened just enough to indicate this conversation may not end the way he had planned.

The Colonel paused again, his chest expanding as he took one last breath, and delivered his response.

"Erling, before I respond to your offer, I will give you a little insight about "my type". It is common knowledge that the Lyran's have a habit for awarding military commands to ill-prepared young nobles."

There was a brief pause before the Colonel pushed off the desk and back into his inspection stance.

"However, I am not one of those. During my time with the 3rd Lyran Guard, because of the incompetence of my commanding officers, I was afforded the opportunity to clean up their mistakes. You see, Erling, my men, although cocky, are far from the young, brash, hot shot type you described. We have been cleaning up after your type for quite some time."

The Overste's eyes narrowed, his years becoming more visible in the lines crossing his face. He took a breath as if about to respond, and leaned forward in his chair.

However, the Colonel had other ideas.

Henley continued, ignoring the Erling's apparent desire to respond to the insult. "I am not finished." His voice was noticeably louder.

Henley's hands snapped instinctively behind his back, as if he was inspecting a group of recruits.

"You have failed as a commander in every aspect of this mission. Your quest to glorify yourself has resulted in the loss of countless resources, a Star League research facility, an entire planet, and the lives of both your men and mine."

The Colonel's voice had escalated from loud to what his men referred to ass chewing mode.

"You have attempted to breach our contract since the beginning of this mission, stole salvage from my unit, and worst of all, abandoned your own men, not to mention my unit."

Henley's face was now red, the veins in his temple pulsed with each heartbeat. The Colonel took another breath, and like a switch, returned to his calm demeanor. He slipped both of his thumbs behind his belt, one on each side of his polished brass 3rd Lyran Guard belt buckle that he still proudly wore, even after his discharge from the LCAF.

Erling's gaze widened as he watched Henley's hands slide around the circumference of his waist until his right hand came to rest on the holster that contained his Sunbeam laser pistol.

"Your actions on Alshain were reckless. You fell into every trap the Dracs set, seeking easy glory for your own gain, AND YOU THINK YOU CAN COME ON MY SHIP AND ATTEMPT TO STEAL HARD EARNED GLORY FROM ME AND MY MEN?! You, Erling, are nothing more than a common pirate, unfit for any uniform, other than perhaps the orange jumpsuit of a petty criminal."

Henley could feel the weight of the laser pistol on his thigh, perspiration beginning to build up behind his low-slung tactical holster. It was if his pistol was begging to be freed and used for its intended purpose. Erling was speechless. For he knew every grievance spoken was the truth, and the man in front of him had the tactical advantage. For the moment.

And just like that, the Colonel reverted to his previous cool and calm demeanor, reached back, and pulled his command chair under him. Henley calmly slid back up to his desk, looked Erling in the eyes, and gave his final statement.

"That is what I say."

Erling, seeing the opportunity to regain advantage, quickly regained his composure, preparing to turn the tables on the mercenary Colonel.

In one abrupt movement, Erling sprung from his chair and drew his own side arm and pointed it directly at the seated Colonel. Although he did not flinch, Henley took note of the surprising speed of a man who was well into his 60's.

"Colonel, you don't get to be a man of my position unless you are willing to seize advantage, under any circumstance. When you failed to located that Silver Fox fool, it was easy enough to blame your unit for my lack of intelligence. Your unit, and that shit O'Mara, were nothing more than fodder, anyway. Bait to distract the Combine forces so I could take the city. I must admit, however, you surprised me with your resilience. But there is one thing I have learned. Never leave loose ends. When you requested reinforcements after somehow managing to capture the castle Brian, I figured the battalion of Ghost closing on your position would tidy things up for me. Why couldn't you just die like you were supposed to?"

There was a pause, and then Erling began to smile as he adjusted his grip on his pistol.

"Colonel, before I finish you, I want you to know what will be in my report to my superiors and the Mercenary Review Board. You directly disobeyed every order given to you during the course of this campaign, beginning with you charging off at the landing zone. You failed to extract the Silver Fox, which led to the loss of Silverdale. And, finally, attempted to steal a priceless cache of Star League tech and escape off planet. Of course, I am the one responsible for preventing your theft of the Star League cache, which my men, not yours, discovered in the Castle Brian. You, Colonel, will be branded as a pirate, posthumously of course. You insubordinate little shit, you should have taken my offer."

He grinned in satisfaction, reveling in his moment of victory.

As if on cue, the reinforced cabin doors emblazoned with the Star of Cameron slid open, making a hissing sound as the pressure equalized. On the other side of the door were his Executive Officer, Gunnar Holdar, and the liaison Brevet Major O'Mara. Erling had assigned O'Mara to the 69th, both to keep tabs on the unit, and to keep O'Mara out of his way.

Pistol drawn, O'Mara leveled his weapon at the back of Erling's head. The look on O'Mara's face left no doubt that he had heard Erling's entire rant. Colonel Henley could see the blood drain out of the Overste's face as he realized everything he had just said had been broadcast to Holdar and O'Mara. Walking lock-step behind them were the Colonel's own commandos, Dawg and McMillian, both with recently captured Kuritan Blazers also leveled at the Overste.

"Put down your weapon Erling. NOW!" O'Mara spoke with conviction, leaving no doubt what the repercussions would be if Erling failed to comply.

Ernie began to circle the Overste, side-stepping silently in a continuous fluid motion, all the while keeping his Blazer perfectly level, and pointed center mass. Erling could not help but follow his motion, the grace with which he moved reveled that this man was both a predator, and assassin of rare skill.

The crack of Dawg's rifle butt against the back of Erling's head broke the silence, followed by the metallic thunk of the Overste's pistol bouncing across the steel floor as he crashed face down in front of the Colonel's desk.

"That's for my men, ******." Dawg spoke calmly as he shoved his knee roughly into the Overste's neck, pinning his head to the floor. Erling grunted as Dawg slung his blazer to his side, but no amount of resistance could prevent his hand from being secured behind his back in restraints.

"Erling, you are hereby relieved of your command. Colonel, if you would please have this man delivered to the troops waiting outside your ship, they will be happy to take custody of him."

Erling, blood dripping from his nose, stared straight at O'Mara, and with a bloody snarl retorted "You have over-reached for the last time, O'Mara. Once my superiors hear of this, you will be hung for treason!"

O'Mara just grinned as he holstered his weapon.

"Erling, arrangements for that have already been made. I am taking you to Radstadt, where you will stand before General Mansdottor and the Grand Council. While you are there, you can discuss with them the charges of dereliction of duty, behavior unbefitting of an officer, misappropriation of resources, and, of course, treason."

Dawg and Ernie each grabbed one of Erling's arms, and led by Overste-Lojtnant Gunnar Holdar, drug him away.

The reinforced doors hissed as they slid shut, leaving O'Mara and the Colonel alone for the first time. Henley looked calmly down at bloody spot on the floor that had broken the Overste's fall.

"I just had this place cleaned." He sighed. "Have a seat Major, let us discuss where we go from here."

The Colonel sat back in is command chair, pulled himself up to his desk, and produced two cigars from the top left drawer.

"You know, Colonel, Erling did have one good idea. Rasalhague does need a hero. How about…"

"Hold that thought Major." Henley clipped the ends of both cigars, handing one to O'Mara. The Colonel leaned forward, lighting O'Mara's cigar, before doing the same to his own.

"We land my ship, painted with the Rasalhague shield and VXF banner on Rasalhague. You step out in the Highlander, flanked by my men. Sigil has prepared a data core with all the recovered technology specs that you can present to the Council. Rasalhague does need a hero, and I think you will fill that role just fine."

O'Mara took a long drag from his cigar and slowly let the smoke drift from his mouth before responding. "I suppose you would like the honorary commission?"

"For me and my men, yes. And that you honor our initial contract. In exchange for the Thug and Bombardier, I want a TDR-5SE Thunderbolt and an Archer. I will require fifty Freezers and one of those new extended range large lasers. I'm sure once you do the math, you will find it very favorable. As for the Highlander, Hamilton may start a war if forced to part with it, so Sigil has included its specs with the data core."

O'Mara took a long drag off of the cigar….."Colonel, I think we have a deal."

-

Chapter 14

Rasalhague  
3043  
Free Rasalhague Republic

Colonel Jason Henley was standing on the bridge of the Confederate. Captain Salt was at the helm, and her chief engineer, Spanner was next to her. They would be making the final jump of their long journey, returning to Rasalhague.

And a hero's welcome.

Task Force Fenrir was returning home. And while they hadn't taken Alshain from the Draconis Combine, there was a silver lining. His unit's capture of the mini Castle Brian, the Star League equipment stockpiled there, and the memory core were fine compensation indeed. Especially for the fledgling Free Rashalhague Republic defense industry. They would now likely be able to produce lostech in-house.

The voice of the helmsman for the Invader they were docked to came over the intercom. "Standby for Jump. Engaging drive in 5…4…3…2…1"

Henley involuntarily gripped the stainless steel handrail as his insides felt like they were being inverted. Being sucked down the rabbit hole and turned into the Mad Hatter was how he liked to think of it. And just he felt as if his sanity has been scattered into deep space, he was suddenly reassembled, and the bridge of the Confederate came back into focus.

The helmsman's voice came over the speakers once again. "Arrival at the nadir point of Rasalhague confirmed. Welcome home everybody."

As his stomach settled, his thoughts turned back to his unit. They had performed well. Faced impossible odds again and again. He paused for a moment. Not all of them had made it home. There had been losses.

Dawg and McMillian had both lost men under their command. And Dawg himself would likely need a prosthesis. He had been first into the command center of the Combine stronghold and had taken more slugs than any man had a right to survive. He was still trying to hide his limp, and the Colonel could tell from the grimace that crossed his face when he thought no one was looking, that there was other damage as well.

He'd see to it that Dawg received the finest medical services available. And that the families of the men and women who hadn't made it home would be taken care of as well. Ultimately, that was his responsibility, and he felt it keenly.

His thoughts were interrupted by the helmsman's voice once again. "The Svartelheim did not complete the jump. Repeat, the Svartelheim is missing."

Colonel Henley's stomach dropped into freefall. The Svartelheim was the Merchant class JumpShip carrying the imprisoned former Overste. And it had a pair of Union class DropShips docked to it, the Thrym and the Jotunheim.

His fist slammed against the handrail, his eyes tightening. By the Usurper himself! That bastard had flown the coop. With the threat of exile hanging over his head, Anders Erling had gone rogue.

He knew it with a certainty that was frightening. No way it was a misjump, he didn't even consider it for a moment. He must have had this contingency planned all along. Grinding his teeth in frustration, Henley turned, stalking off to his stateroom.

-

Anders Erling, former Overste in the KungsArme, looked out into the deep space of an unnamed star system. A blank canvas. A reprieve. Another opportunity to write his own destiny.

He smiled as he turned around to face his assembled officers.

"Welcome to Valhalla, gentleman. And thanks to each of you. You've followed me into Hel before and come out alive, and rest assured we're going to be doing it again."

He chuckled. "We'll be traveling to the Periphery. With two companies of 'Mechs and warriors such as yourself, we'll have little trouble setting up a new base of operations. Hell, we could take an entire planet if we found one worth taking."

"Once there, we re-establish ourselves as the Valkyries. And I make this promise to each and every one of you. If you want wealth, you shall have it. Luxury, it's yours. Women, done. Titles, lands, whatever your mind can conceive of, yours."

He looked each man and women directly in the eye before proceeding. These were the people whose loyalty had saved him. They had turned their back on their homeland for him. And he always paid his debts.

"All I ask in return is what you have already given. Your unquestioning loyalty. Things are going to be a bit different from here on out. I don't have to remind you that we'll be operating in the grey area, and sometimes even in the black. The dice have been cast, and there is no turning back now."

He turned back to the expansive viewport, waving his hands. "Gentlemen, we shall pluck the ripe fruits from the fat orchards of the once Great Houses and revel in glory and excess! We are the new Kings! We take what we want, when we want. And we deal in death."

-

The KungsArme techs had done a marvelous job of detailing the Bombardier, Thug and Highlander. In part, credit was due to the Confederate itself.

The spacious cargo bay was practically a miniature 'Mech repair facility. Cranes, diagnostic and testing equipment, slings, harnesses, welders, cutters, industrial exoskeletons, in truth Henley wasn't sure parting with it would be a wise choice. But, it was undoubtedly worth a sizable fortune, and the unit's need for a JumpShip might, in the end, be greater. It was something he was still mulling over.

They had even managed to lovingly restore the original 16th Army Star League Defense Force paint job. And, in a minor fit of what he considered extravagance, they had sent some of the techs out into space to paint the stylized Midgaard Serpent of the Free Rasalhague Republic intertwined around the Star of Cameron.

All in preparation for this moment.

Capt. Salt was absorbed in controlling the decent of the DropShip as they made planetfall. They would be landing directly at the main StarPort in the capital city. All the planning and preparations had been handled during the four and half day burn.

No one had said another word about the Svartelheim. Major O'Mara had summed it up best, when he'd told the Colonel succinctly "Rasalhague needs heroes not traitors."

In the end, Major O'Mara didn't have the heart to pilot the Highlander. He had laughed and said something about the need for the KungsArme to maintain good mercenary relations.

O'Mara would be in the Thug and Hamilton the Highlander. It had been case of love at first sight, with Hamilton vowing never to pilot anything other than the 90-ton jump capable HGN-732b. Weddle would be piloting the Bombardier for the parade, and Souther's Hatchetman would serve as an honor guard, stationed right outside of the DropShip. Sigil, of course, refused to pilot anything except his 40-ton Clint, and since that was now mostly scrap, he'd be staying on the Confederate.

Capt. Salt had things well in hand, and he turned to strap himself into his Battlemaster. Lagemann would be riding shotgun with him in the command console. He paused, as the irony hit him. It was the almost same force that had taken the field against the 5th Ghost, and it struck him as a fitting tribute.

-

Capt. Salt's voice was practically purring. "Secure the cabin. Prepare to open the bay doors." Had they landed? Damn, she had a smooth hand, he hadn't even felt it.

Sunlight streamed in as the bay door lifted. He could see a wing of Aerospace fighters in tight formation screaming above the ferrocrete landing pad. The 1st Drakon was lined up in rows forming a path to a grandstand covered in green and blue bunting. 108 'Mechs, all gleaming in the sun, at full attention to greet the return of their sister regiment.

And was that a band right in front of the grandstand?

As agreed, Major O'Mara's Thug was the first out of the DropShip. 80-tons of shining Star League glory, the Rasalhague serpent intertwined around the famous Cameron Star emblazoned on both arms. When had they done that?

The Bombardier and the Highlander formed an honor guard for the Thug as they began the walk towards the grandstand. The Colonel fell in behind them, keeping a respectable distance.

As the Thug passed the first rows of the assembled 1st Drakon, the 'Mechs on either side raised their arms in salute. The Colonel had to hand it to the Rasalhagians, they knew how to put on a proper ceremony. He noticed numerous holovid crews tucked subtly between the 'Mechs recording the entire thing, and no doubt broadcasting it live across the planet to a population starved for heroes.

The procession solemnly made its way to the grandstand. There, O'Mara stopped, his Thug kneeling down in front of the assembled dignitaries as he climbed out. Henley piloted his 'Mech directly behind him and opened the canopy.

A step behind the Major, they both approached the grandstand on foot.

Colonel Henley blinked twice in rapid succession. Prince Haakon Magnusson himself was on the platform. He stepped up the microphone.

"Valdherren, Hertig, and members of the Riksdag. We gather today to honor the valorous. Like our Viking ancestors from ancient Terra, our warriors have traveled the dangerous unknown to meet the Dragon in his lair and plunder his hoard."

The Prince paused a moment, raising his hand triumphantly. "And they have returned victorious! The 2nd Drakon, and those who traveled with them to Alshain, passed through the crucible of dragon fire, and took what they came for by strength of arms, proving once again the true meddle of the KungsArme!"

"And you wonder what miraculous treasures lie in such a hoard?" Prince Magnusson motioned towards the three SLDF BattleMechs.

"Behold the lost secrets of the Star League! And they are now ours!"

The grandstand erupted in wild applause, as the band broke into a rousing rendition of "Sång till Norden." A myriad of voices singing and chanting in unison.

I forever want to serve thee, my beloved country,  
Loyalty until death I want to swear thee,  
Thy right I will protect with mind and with hand,  
thy banner, the heroes carry high.

With God I shall fight for home and for hearth,  
for Rasalhague, the beloved native soil.  
I trade thee not, for anything in a world  
No, I want to live, I want to die in the North.

The song grew and swelled, reaching a crescendo, as the air was suddenly rent by a flight of aerospace fighters only meters off the ground as they screamed up the passage towards the Prince and the assembled 'Mechs. At the last second, they veered practically vertical, shooting into the sky like metallic stars as the 108 'Mechs of the 1st Drakon stomped the ground thrice in perfect unison.

For a suspended second, the entire world shook with an astounding ferocity, the cacophony of sounds assaulting them physically, then as quickly as it came, it was over.

On the grandstand, the Prince reached to his side, putting an ancient horn covered in gold leaf to his lips, and blew a single, long note.

"Major O'Mara, 2nd Drakon, KungsArme. Step forth and kneel."

As O'Mara kneeled, the Prince drew out a medallion from within the folds of his ceremonial regalia and held it up, glinting in the sunlight. "The Hammer Mjollnir! To crush our enemies, scatter our foes, and revel in the glory in the battle!"

He draped the heavy medallion suspended on a thick golden chain from the Major's neck, and then stepped back, away from center stage. Another man, dressed impeccably in modern clothes stepped up to the microphone, taking his place.

"The Fourth Estate wishes to express its own gratitude to the members of Task Force Fenrir. Many think power can be quantified in C-bills, 'Mechs, or influence. However, these things are only the shadow cast by power, not power itself. True power is knowledge. And the Fourth Estate stands poised to reap the benefits of the knowledge brought back to us by our triumphant warriors and their allies."

He motioned something forward. Suddenly, the ground was rocked once again, as the ranks of the 1st Drakon split apart with flawless execution, and a pair of shining 70-tons Archers strode up the passage leading towards him.

"The deadly shadow of power, the pride of Gorton, Kingsley, and Thorpe Enterprises here on Rasalhague! The ARC-5R Archer!"

The torsos of both 'Mechs flipped open, revealing matched pairs of FarFire LRM-15 Missile Systems. Mounted to each arm was a Victory Nickel Alloy Extended Range Large Laser.

Suddenly, both 'Mechs shuddered as sixty long-range missiles simultaneously took flight. They arced high into the air, exploding as huge multi-colored fireworks. The sky was blanketed in clusters of incandescent colors, a riot of green, blues, and reds.

As burning embers cascaded down on the assembly, the man spoke again.

"Colonel Jason Henley, commanding officer of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. Step forward and accept these BattleMechs in honor of your courage and prowess on the battlefield in the face of overwhelming odds. I bestow upon you the honorary title of Valdherren, and your men, Herstig."

He turned, now addressing the entire assembly. "Please join us all at the Palace Hall this evening for a festivities celebrating our victory and honoring our guests."

-

Chapter 15

Rasalhague  
3043  
Free Rasalhague Republic

Nathaniel Voolkir, Chief Operating Officer of Gorton, Kingsley and Thorpe Enterprises, was getting ready for the Grand Gala at the Palace Hall. He knew the sound of opportunity knocking, and this time it was practically kicking his door down.

He thumbed the buzzer built into his mahogany desk, summoning Danika, his executive assistant.

She entered his private office. She might as well have been Freya's daughter. Six feet of pale blond breathtaking beauty, her looks matched only by her equally stunning intelligence. He chuckled. His secret weapon.

"Danika, I have an assignment for you this evening." Voolkir extended his arms out horizontally, as Danika efficiently threaded his GKT cufflinks. "I want you to find out everything you can regarding the status and contents of the SLDF Confederate class DropShip the 69th VXF landed in this afternoon. It's my understanding one Captain Varukka Salt was piloting the craft. She, along with her chief engineer, a man named Spanner, will both be at tonight's Gala. You might also find a Leutnant Sigil of interest. I understand he was instrumental in the retrieval of the memory core from the SLDF facility they raided. I believe he also pilots a Clint."

Danika's pale blue eyes stared directly into his as she straightened his tie, pulling his vest down tightly removing even the faintest trace of a crease. Voolkir reached into the breast pocket of his vest, withdrawing an antique Terran timepiece. With a click, the lid popped open.

"You will find what information I have managed to collect, as well as holovids of each of the subjects on my desk. If you manage to find out anything you think might interest me, you are to report to me immediately at the Gala, interrupting me if you deem necessary."

He returned her gaze icily. "You are to use any means necessary, Danika. Opportunities like this rarely come along, and I don't intend to let this one get away if what I suspect is true."

-

The ballroom of the palace had been transformed into an ancient Mead Hall. All of the attendants were dressed in elaborate costuming, echoing the Republic's Terran past. Skalds, Vikings, and Valkyries paraded through the Hall filling the drinking horns of the guests. The smoky air was filled was the scents of roasting meat as whole deer and boar were being slowly turned over open fires by huge blonde shirtless men wearing fur trimmed boots and leather pants.

A stunning woman in a long pale blue gown, slit almost indecently up her thigh approached Captain Varukka Salt and her ever-present companion, Spanner.

"Captain Salt? I'm Danika Svensson of Gorton, Kingsley and Thorpe. I wanted to compliment you on your flawless landing at the StarPort this afternoon. I can't imagine you've had the opportunity to pilot a Confederate before, which makes your landing even more impressive." Danika smiled disarmingly.

Capt. Salt, dressed in her ever present skintight flight leathers, eyed the blonde giant, nodding. "I've piloted spheroid DropShips before, this one wasn't much different." Salt shrugged.

Danika continued. "Still, what an opportunity! I can't recall ever having seen a Confederate outside of archival holovids. It must have been thrilling! The Union would be closest thing, did it handle much differently?"

Capt. Salt narrowed her eyes. She'd been to similar functions, although not quite as elaborate, when she had served in the Warrior Houses of the Confederation. There were only two types of people at events like this. Sycophants and wolves. And this woman was definitely the second.

She'd learned the hard way the true cost of loose lips and inappropriate relationships, and she wasn't about to risk her position with 69th Expeditionary. Especially not now. The Colonel was a rare find. A skilled tactician, fearless warrior, and cunning negotiator. But what impressed her the most was his dedication to the men and women who served him, and his unfailing sense of honor.

Salt responded disinterestedly. "Nah, not much different. Once you figure out the controls, it's just the same old routine." She looked over at Spanner who was frowning.

"Come on, Spanner, smells like that boars about done." Capt. Salt turned back to the woman from GKT, grinning. "If you want to talk about something rare, I've never had roast boar! Excuse us, I'd hate to miss what will probably be my only opportunity."

Danika smiled pleasantly back. "Of course, Captain Salt. I hope you enjoy your stay here on Rasalhague."

Capt. Salt and Spanner turned, heading towards the spit. Behind them Danika frowned. She wasn't going to get anywhere with that woman, and her companion had just scowled at her the entire time. Time to try something else.

-

Sigil emptied the golden contents of his drinking horn into his mouth. Kerensky! This stuff was amazing! He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, staining his dress uniform and grinning stupidly.

His eyes widened as a pale blue Norse goddess strode towards him. He straightened up, noticing the stains on his sleeves and breast for the first time. She came right up to him.

Tossing her head back and laughing lightly, she spoke. "It's so refreshing seeing someone who knows how to celebrate!" Her glittering blue eyes passed over his body as she continued to smile. "You should have dressed like a Viking, I think it may have suited you better." She giggled coquettishly.

"You're Leutnant Sigil, aren't you? From the 69th? Your kinda small for a MechWarrior." She continued giggling. "Allow me the honor of refilling your horn?"

Without waiting for a response, she reached out, her slender fingers trailing gently along his arm, then across his fingers as she grasped his empty vessel. "I'll be right back, don't you dare go anywhere!" She winked, twirled and disappeared with his horn, leaving him standing there still vaguely stunned.

He looked around the dimly lit Hall.

Hamilton wasn't far away. He'd donned a huge Viking helm, the horns on either side curving a good two feet into the air. A pack of Valkyries surrounded him, filling his horn as quickly as he was draining it. His voice boomed over the din. "That Highlander, it's just like me, equipped with the biggest ****** gun you'll ever see!"

The Valkyies were fawning all over him, practically pawing him. Ok, some of them were pawing him. "Gather round ladies, there's plenty for all of you. Why, I don't even consider it a challenge, unless I'm outnumbered at least four to one! And I like these odds!" he bellowed as he eyed the six women.

One of the Valkryies with a rack larger than the LRM-20s on his Highlander refilled his horn once again. He lifted his horn and started feeding it one at a time to the women surrounding him, sloshing it down their faces, mead soaking the fronts of their scanty tops.

Sigil continued scanning the Hall. There was the Colonel. Ramrod straight, and still immaculately dressed. He narrowed his eyes, squinting in the dim light. Yep, Colonel Sarah Lindon was right next to him. The both of them engaged in a conversation Sigil could only guess at.

It took a bit longer to find Jochen Weddle. He was seated at one of the long wooden trestles. His trencher piled high with smoking slabs of meat and potatoes drowning in gravy. Prince Haakon Magnusson, sitting at the head of table in dress befitting a King, was talking with him. High-ranking officers of the KungsArme surrounded them both. Weddle was waving and stabbing with a haunch of venison as he recounted the battle at the Castle Brian. Turnips, rolls, and beets arrayed on the table serving as edible proxies of the enemies assault.

He was interrupted by the return of the woman in blue. She restored his now full drinking horn to his hand. "I don't believe I've introduced myself. I'm Danika Svensson, I work for GKT. A pleasure to meet you."

Sigil blinked dumbly. She tittered. "Gorton, Kingsley and Thorpe? We gave you the Archers earlier today?"

Sigil finally found his voice. "Oh. Uh, ya. The Archers. They looked, umm…, real nice."

She laughed, touching his arm once again. "I hear you pilot a Clint. That's an unusual 'Mech."

Sigil beamed. "Oh ya! It's an antique! The Colonel offered me my pick of 'Mechs, but I won't pilot anything else!"

He puffed up with pride. "I only pilot vintage 'Mechs. They knew how to make 'em back in the Star League days. These 'Mechs their making today can't hold a candle to 'em!"

He stopped abruptly, blushing, as he realized he'd just insulted the Archers her employer had just given them. "I mean, uh, you know. So much tech has been lost during the Succession wars. Even now we can't make systems as good as they did 300 years ago."

Danika stepped closer, her long svelte leg emerging from her gown as she leaned into him. "I know what you mean. And it's true. I was astonished when I saw that Confederate DropShip. I'm sure it's a true marvel to behold! I can't imagine what's it like inside!"

Sigil turned, her face now only inches from his own. "That thing is phenomenal! I've been on a lot of DropShips in my time, but nothing even comes close to that Confederate. You wouldn't believe how spacious is it. And the cargo bays! Not only are they huge, but it's like a miniature 'Mech repair facility in there. We detailed the Highlander, Thug, and the Bombardier in there while we were on our way back here. If I had only had the parts, I could have rebuilt my entire Clint enroute!"

Danika purred in his ear. "I'd do anything for just a quick peek inside." She giggled.

Sigil flushed bright red. "Umm… well… "

Danika smiled sinfully at him, her body brushing up against his. "I'd love to see the size of those engines."

Sigil floundered, taking a long pull from his drinking horn. "I bet you would. Spanner said the secret to the entire design was the Thordan 650X drive system. 20% smaller, 10% lighter, one of the most advanced engines ever produced by the Star League! He was practically drooling over it!"

Danika leaned in even closer, her lips brushing against his ear, sending waves of heat flooding through his body. "How about we go there, and I can check out your drive system?"

Sigil stiffened, his body responding to her touch. "Uh….."

Danika wrapped her fingers through his, pulling him gently towards the outside of the Hall. "This party is winding down, how about we start a new one together?"

-

Capt. Salt unobtrusively approached Colonel Henley. The Colonel, noticing her, turned, and then turned back, addressing the woman standing in front on him. "Colonel Lindon, please excuse me for a moment."

They retreated a short way back as Colonel Henley gave Varukka a questioning look.

"Colonel, there's a vampish GKT agent sweet talking Sigil. She tried her talents on me and Spanner first, but I can spot the type a mile away. She's trolling for information on the Confederate. Just thought you should know."

"Thank you, Captain. Where did you see them last?"

Salt gestured across the Hall. Henley returned to Colonel Lindon, speaking a few words, then disappeared deep into the smoke filled Hall.

-

Sigil was feeling giddy, filled with anticipation as Danika pulled him towards the exit. He couldn't keep his eyes off the seductive sway of her lithe hips, and the way her slender leg teasingly emerged from the high slit of her gown as she walked.

Suddenly, the familiar voice of the Colonel thundered out from behind him. "Leutnant Sigil! AT ATTENTION! I did not give you permission to leave this function. Where in the nine hells do you think you're going?!"

Conditioned by years of military service, Sigil automatically executed a rather sloppy about face, coming to a passable full attention as he faced his commanding officer. "Uhh… Colonel, sir!? I was just, I mean, I umm… needed some fresh air, and umm… Danika here was just helping me find, uhh… where to get some? Sir. Yes, sir!"

The Colonel's gaze shifted to the woman standing behind and to the side of Sigil. "You may go. I'm quite familiar with the layout of the Hall."

Danika paused, appraising the look the Colonel was giving her. It brook no argument. This was not a man to trifle with. She gave a short curtsy. "Of course, Colonel. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

She looked over at Sigil. "A pleasure meeting you, Leutnant Sigil. I hope we have the chance to meet again." Danika strode swiftly away disappearing quickly among the multitude of revelers.

The Colonel's gaze returned to Sigil, eyeing him critically from top to bottom. "You would do well to remember you are representing the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force at this function."

The Colonel looked in disgust at the stains covering Sigil's dress uniform. "And you are no longer fit for that duty. You will return immediately to your quarters, ALONE, and remain there for the remainder of the night. If you disobey my orders, there will be harsh consequences, Leutnant. DISMISSED!"

The Colonel executed a crisp about face, and stalked back into the Mead Hall.

-

Colonel Sarah Lindon, commanding officer of Lindon's Company, smiled warmly as Henley returned. "Trouble among the ranks, Colonel?"

Henley snorted. "Nothing to worry about. It seems these functions can be as dangerous as the battlefield to the unwary."

Sarah laughed. "Indeed, Colonel, perhaps even more dangerous. I grow tired of the smoke and raucousness. Let us pay our respects to the Prince and then retire for the night." Her eyes glimmered with an unspoken promise.

Colonel Henley straightened his already prefect dress uniform. "An excellent idea, Colonel." Together they made their way to the Prince's table.

-

The blast of fresh air did nothing to clear Sigil's head. What did they put in that Mead anyway? An attendant approached him asking, "Can I help you, sir?"

It took a minute for Sigil to process the man's words. "Oh…uhh… I need to get back to the…umm StarPort. Yea, the StarPort."

The man nodded. "Of course, sir. Allow me to escort you to one of the taxis. It will take you directly there."

Sigil followed the man, concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other. A door opened, and he half fell into the plush interior of a private car.

Seconds later, another form slipped into the vehicle next to him. He turned to look at it in the dim interior as the door shut, and the taxi pulled out.

"Daaaa….nika!" He grinned like a schoolboy.

Danika giggled. "You didn't think I'd let you get away, now did you?"

She pushed herself against him, Sigil hungrily searching for her lips as he pulled her to him.

The trip to the StarPort seemed like a blur. By the time they arrived, his dress uniform was half off and her gown was practically up to her waist.

He hadn't even noticed the taxi stopping until the door opened.

A leather-clad hand reached in, dragging him out of the car, and dumping him unceremoniously onto the ferrocrete.

Danika looked up, taken completely by surprise, just in time to see Captain Varukka Salt slamming the door in her face. She banged on the car twice, and it began to pull away.

Dammit, Danika swore silently to herself. She'd underestimated that DropShip captain. Still, at least she'd learned something useful. She rearranged her gown, addressing the driver, all trace of laughter gone. "Back to the Mead Hall, please."

-

Varukka gave Sigil the once over. He was a total wreck. He climbed unsteadily back to his feet giving her a shockingly lusty look as he reached out trying to grope her.

"Oh… Captain Salt! Don't you look just lovvveeellllely tonight! Come 'ere, and let me show you my drive system." Sigil started giggling uncontrollably.

Varukka gave him a cold, appraising look, which he seemed totally oblivious to. He was swaying on his feet, his eyes struggling to focus on her. Yep. Drugged. She'd seen it before. That GKT bitch had definitely slipped something into his drink. Normally, Sigil would have been fleeing in terror from her.

He lurched towards her, falling. Varukka quickly caught him in her arms before he damaged himself on the unforgiving ferrocrete landing pad. His glassy eyes stared up into hers, smitten.

He slurred as he spoke. "You know, Varukkaaaaaa, I bet you'rrrrrre a wild one in bed. All the men have a poollllll going to see who can be the first to find out…" He moaned softly in her arms.

She grabbed him roughly by the hair and proceeded to drag him into the DropShip. He wouldn't remember a thing come morning. And no one would ever know. She grinned to herself. He'd wake up sore as hell and wondering where all the bruises came from.

-

Chapter 16

Rasalhague  
3043  
Free Rasalhague Republic

Colonel Jason Henley sat at a long, obviously antique table made from some kind of exotic wood. Across from him sat a man dressed impeccably in a double-breasted suit.

"Thank you for coming, Colonel. I'll get straight to the point. I am Hans Fjord, Chief Operating Officer for Gorton, Kingsley and Thorpe. In case you are not well acquainted with my organization, we are a well-diversified company, with interests spanning many different industries, including military hardware. Our main corporate headquarters is located here, on Rasalhague, but we have production facilities on a number of other star systems."

"I want something you have. Something I can't get anywhere else. Consequently, I'll skip the normal negotiating process since you're already holding all the cards that matter. I've reviewed your unit's manifest. You're a growing mercenary unit, Colonel. Your balance sheet and cash position are excellent. Your long term prospects and Mercenary Review Board ratings are astonishing for a mercenary unit so recently founded."

The Colonel looked at Fijord unflinchingly, his visage unreadable.

"Here's my offer Colonel Henley. Both a Scout Class JumpShip and a Union Class DropShip in exchange for the SLDF Confederate you took on Alshain."

He paused, trying in vain to gauge the Colonel's reaction. There was not even the slightest trace in the man's face. He would have made an excellent businessman. Then again, he was a businessman, just in an entirely different type of business.  
"Furthermore, I offer you 20 million C-bills to keep quiet about the disposition of the DropShip. I'd rather not let my competitors know what I'm up to." Fjord chuckled.

"Both ships are in system now. I'm happy to provide your people with all the time they require for inspections. If there is anything, anything at all, I can offer in addition to, or instead of, what I have already put on the table, don't hesitate to tell me."

He slid a memcard across the highly polished wooden surface. "My direct personal contact information is on that card, Colonel. I look forward to hearing from you."

-

The officers of the 69th VXF were gathering in the small mess hall of their de-facto headquarters aboard the Confederate.

Hamilton was laughing as he shoveled an unidentifiable meat product into his mouth. "Man, that has got to be one of the best ****** parties I've ever been too! Hell, I'm almost ready to join the FRR! Especially now that I'm a Hertig!"

Capt. Weddle looked at him grinning. "You do know what an honorary title means, right? You're not really a Hertig, Hamilton."

Hamilton continued laughing. "Shhhh! Don't tell the Valkyries!"

Capt. McMillian, Dawg, Lt. Lagemann, and Corporal Southers sat nearby, speculating on where they were heading next.

Dawg stabbed a slab of meat product with his multi-purpose tool. "Galatea. The Colonel's wants off Rasalhague ASAP. Week tops and we're outta here." He leaned back, looking down the table at Hamilton and winking. "Enjoy those warrior maidens while you can, Hamilton. Trust me, it won't last long."

Sigil limped in late, bowlegged and bruised. He took his plate, lowering himself slowly onto the bench, grimacing.

Lagemann grinned evilly. "Looks like someone's been to Valhalla and back. Were those Valkyries too rough for ya last night, Sigil?" All the men chuckled.

Unexpectedly, a huge wad of C-bills arced through the air, landing on the table directly in front of Sigil with a thud. McMillian was grinning ear to ear. Sigil looked over at him confused, as the rest of officers looked questioningly on.

McMillian was shaking his head. "Kerensky! I don't know how you did it, but you did it. Who would have ever guessed it?"

Corporal Southers eyes were as wide as saucers. "You mean… Sigil and Captain Salt…," he trailed off into silence followed by the rest of the mess hall.

In unison, seven sets of eyes locked onto Sigil, as McMillian spoke. "That's right. The Colonel had me hightail it back to the Confederate during the party last night. Apparently, someone was asking a few too many questions about the Confederate here, and he wanted me to make sure it was properly secured."

"Shortly after I got back to the ship, Captain Salt and Spanner showed up as well. I'm pretty sure they didn't know I was here. I was lying low when one the taxis from the Palace Hall shows up. Capt. Salt drags Sigil out by his hair, and up the ramp into the DropShip. Next thing I know, I hear Sigil pleading, begging, and then screaming for his life. I sneak over to the Captain's quarters and… I'm still scarred by what I saw there. It's not natural, I tell you, that a man should be put into those kinds of positions."

Sigil turned bright red. Stammering he responded, "I… I… don't remember a thing! The last thing I recall was a pale blonde woman at the Mead Hall…."

Captain Weddle chortled. "Your such an idiot, Sigil."

-

Colonel Jason Henley looked up as Captain Varukka Salt entered his stateroom aboard the Confederate. She looked unusually relaxed.

"Colonel, you asked to see me?"

Capt. Salt was wearing her usual skin-tight flight leathers, which left little to the imagination, her stunstick hanging from her waist.

He put down his datapad. He'd been reviewing the unit's operating expenses, balance sheet, and the unit's cash on hand. Voolkir's offer was a good one, and he intended to give it due consideration.

"I want you to take Spanner and Lt. Sigil on an inspection tour. Bring Capt. McMillian along as well. He's got keen eyes. The COO of the Gorton, Kingsley, and Thorpe met with me and made a rather tempting offer. A Scout JumpShip and a Union DropShip in exchange for the Confederate. Both craft are in-system, and I've made arrangements for you take a shuttle up to inspect them both."

Capt. Salt nodded. "Most of my piloting experience is with Union class DropShips, and Spanner knows the V250 drive system like the back of his hand. We'll give it thorough examination. If there's anything wrong it, major or minor, we'll find it Colonel."

"The Scout JumpShip on the otherhand." She spread her fingers out as she shrugged.

"I could it pilot it in-system, and the crew could handle it I'm sure, but I'm no Navigator, and Spanner doesn't work on Kearny-Fuchida drives. I could give you my best guess on it, but you need to understand it'll be just that, a best guess, Colonel. I'll check it over, but the KF Drive is going to be an unknown."

The Colonel stroked his chin absently as his considered. "Go down to the StarPort. See if you can find anyone there whose rated on KF Drives. If you think their competent, offer them a side job and take them with you on the inspection. Do the best you can. The shuttle leaves tomorrow. We need to move fast on this. I don't want to stay on Rasalhague any longer then absolutely necessary. Dismissed."

-

Colonel Henley leaned back in his chair. He tossed the datapad with Capt. Salt's full report onto his desk. She was a smart one, concise, accurate, and frank in her assessment. Nothing like the bloated treatises he had to write back in his days with the 3rd Lyran Guard. In the LCAF, a good report was measured in number of pages.

The value of a JumpShip. He stroked his chin absently deep in thought. Full transportation for the entire unit. Every contract negotiation involved the same basic five elements: Payment, Support, Transport, Salvage Rights, and Command Rights.

He'd just finishing learning the hard way about the importance of Command Rights. If he took Voolkir's offer, he'd gain a powerful new bargaining chip for the next time he was at the negotiating table. Which, he reflected, was probably not long off. The unit's contract with the FRR was now over. He'd be paying salaries and maintenance costs from the unit's own coffers from now until he landed their next mission.

Another reason Voolkir's offer was so attractive. 20 million C-bills. The unit burned through about a million every four months in just operating costs alone. He could buy the most rare commodity of all with that kind of money. Time. Time to rest and refit.

Time to set the stage for the next act. They already had enough hardware to be a full combined-arms company. All he lacked was Aerospace support, but Kitten would be graduating from the Flight Academy of Thorin just a few months from now. He'd anticipated just this moment before the unit had even taken the first Jump towards Alshain. She'd need a ride, of course, but he'd already earmarked a good three million C-bills for that when he sent her back to school.

Capt. Salt's suggestions were good ones. Expensive. Really expensive. But, still, good ones. He'd have to sell the Leopard to cover the costs. But, assuming he had the Scout and the Union, the Leopard would be left out anyway. The Scout only had a single docking collar.

He asked a lot of the people under his command, and he felt an obligation to provide them not only with the best equipment, but the best facilities as well. That was the unwritten contract. You give me a 110%, and I'll make sure you have what need to succeed.

It meant breaking the fellowship though. At least for a time. There was always that intangible element that lived inside every unit. A camaraderie, a shared belief, a mythos forged on a shared battlefield. Of triumphant victories, and bitter losses. Of trials endured together. That sympatico would fade with time. That edge would grow dull.

Still. To be fair, there was the opposite side to consider as well. Luck pushed just a bit too far. Of overextending, over reaching, and coming crashing down and burning out. If you push too hard for too long, you're guaranteed to fall.

Henley leaned forward, pulling out the top drawer of his desk. With a snick, he cut the end off one of the cigars Major O'Mara had given him, and lit it. Leaning back once again, he let his mind wander as he took the first draw.

He'd take the offer.

-

The command staff of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force assembled in the small conference room.

Once everyone was seated, Colonel Henley began.

"It's time to say goodbye to Rasalhague. I've got sealed sets of orders for each of you. First, Captain Salt and her crew, along with Captain McMillian and his men, will be traveling to Clipperton in the Free Worlds League. Captain Salt will oversee the overhaul of the Union's life support systems, and the replacement of the Scout's Jump Sail. Her crew will also train in the basics of JumpShip maintenance and Navigation. Once completed, the overhauled Union will carry a full company of 'Mechs and a full company of infantry. The Scout will carry an aerospace asset. Captain McMillian and his unit will train in zero-gravity combat."

"I will be traveling to Thorin, in the Lyran Commonwealth, on other matters."

"The rest of you will be returning to Galatea. Captain Weddle will assume overall command in my absence. He will be recruiting three new MechWarriors and handling the sale of Shadowfax. Dawg will also be recruiting infantry to replace our losses on Alshain."

He looked at each of them in turn. "I expect each of you to keep in fighting trim. This is not, I repeat, not a vacation. If you wish to take personal time, please take that up with your respective commanding officer."

"The next time we are all together there will be a few new faces, and a least one familiar one. And, the 69th will be a combined-arms company with full transport."

He allowed himself a rare public smile. "Dismissed. Captain Weddle, I'd like to speak with you in my quarters."

-


	4. Book 4 - Galaetea

Chapter 1

Galatea  
3044  
Lyran Commonwealth

By Kerensky, when had he become such a speed demon, Sigil wondered as he eyed the salvaged Vox 280 fusion engine. Most commonly found in the Archer and Warhammer, it wasn't a particularly rare engine.

It seemed he spent the vast majority of his free time combing through the numerous 'Mech scrap yards dotting Galatea. Of course, he was always hunting for the next great find, preferably something he could use to repair his severely damaged Clint.

Like this engine. The Pitban 240 that was in it now weighed 11.5 tons. The Vox came in 5.5 tons heavier, at 16 tons.

But, if he could find a way to get it in, it would take the Clint's top speed from 97.2 km/h to a blistering 118.8 km/h. Only a tiny handful of 'Mechs could boast a higher top speed, and none of them where as heavy as his Clint.

Ok, well there was the Cicada, built by HartfordCo Industries, but come on, it was really just an oversized Locust, it doesn't even have arms. Besides, no one is even making them anymore.

He paused a moment, reflecting. Then again, no one was making the Clint anymore either.

$1,250,00. Sigil winced. That was a lot of C-bills to drop on a project that might turn out to be an epic fail. On the surface the entire project seemed doomed right from the start, but that was before he'd delved into the Star League research facility core they'd copied on Alshain.

Extralight Fusion Engines. It really wasn't all that much of a stretch from the Double Heatsink. It's all in the materials. In this case, specifically the radiation shielding. Replace the standard heavy tungsten carbide shielding with some of the new crystalline polymers they were using the Freezers, and viola! XL Engine. If the calculations proved out, the redesigned Vox 280 would hit the scales at a mere 8 tons.

A full 3.5 tons lighter then the Pitban 240 that was in there now.

Sigil whistled. And if he shaved off just a bit of armor, he also could upgrade all the current weaponry to the state of the art extended range and pulse model lasers.

Of course, he'd need at least 2.5 million to get everything done. Even then, if things went wonky with the radiation shielding, be probably get poisoned. And apparently, the engine would be considerably more bulky.

Well, there was always Plan B. For another million, he could just buy an ASN-21 Assassin. After all, it boasted the same weight and top speed as the upgraded Clint would. But, the armor sucked, the weapons sucked, and the cockpit was stuffed worse than a sardine can and smelled twice as bad. It was well known that Maltex Corportion had "value engineered" the entire design, and when they lost the production line in the early Succession Wars, they hadn't even bothered to rebuild it. Then again, he might be able to get one of those chassis on the cheap.

And besides, as it was he was dispossessd, his Clint hanging from chains in the 69th 'Mech hangar.

Hadn't he seen an old salvaged Maltex 40 chassis somewhere?

-

Jax 'Mech Yards. More like Jax Scrap Yards, Sigil thought to himself as he entered the cavernous warehouse on the outskirts of Galatea. Burned out actuators, strings of myomer, weapon components, salvaged limbs, gyro and engine parts, along with the occasional chassis filled the arena sized building.

A seedy looking overweight man in a faded 2nd Marik Militia flak jacket lurched towards him on a barely functioning prosthetic leg.

He scowled at Sigil, his tone gruff. "Whatda ya want?"

"I was searching through your inventory online, and it shows you've got a Maltex 40 chassis."

He snorted, then guffawed. "Ya, that's right. It's a real piece of work. Follow me, and I'll show it to ya."

The man limped his way past row after row of discarded 'Mech detritus, before turning, making his way towards one of the walls. "I got all the chassis lined up against the wall over here. A got a coupla Bergan VIIs, an Earthwerks STG, a Republic-R, a Whitworth Type 1, a Kallon Type XII, and that Maltex you're interested in." He motioned straight ahead.

To say it looked rough would be generous. Tangled myomer bundles hung from the stripped skeleton. Long streaks of rust ran down from what actuators still remained attached to the chassis. All of the weapons were gone, the armor was gone, the engine housing was obviously damaged, doubtful the gyro was in any better shape, the cockpit was about all that seemed to remain intact.

Sigil grunted.

The man shrugged. "Ya, it ain't pretty to look at it. I picked it up at auction. Probably hasn't seen action since the 3rd Succession War. I stripped what was left of the weapons off it and sold those. The engines got a radiation leak, the gyros messed up, you could probably rebuild most of the actuators, but it'll take a whole lotta love before this baby sees the battlefield again."

Sigil grimaced. As a Tech he was used to seeing damaged 'Mechs, and as Mechwarrior, he knew what it was like to take that damage, but this thing looked more like scrap. Still…

Sigil turned to the man. "You got a lift? I want to give this a good once over."

"Sure. Jax is the name." He motioned all around him. "This is my little slice of paradise. There's a lift down there, just past the two Locust husks. Just don't try to fire it up. The engines trashed. Just give a yell when you're done. I'll hear ya." He winked once at Sigil, then limped off, disappearing around a pile of damaged heatsinks.

-

The thing was a complete mess. All the actuators would need to be rebuilt, and some likely replaced entirely. He'd have to run all new myomer bundles. The gyro would need to be fixed. The cockpit was unbelievably small, everything looked operable, but there was really no way to know without powering up the engine. He'd have to patch and reinforce the internal structure in numerous places. All new weapons, new armor. And then there was the Vox 280 engine that needed extensive repairs.

It was perfect. Built in 2755, it was definitely an antique. Maltex Corporation hadn't produced many of them in the first place. And nobody was making anything like it even now. Forty tons, top speed of almost 120 km/h, capable of jumping over 200 meters. The closest thing to it was a Jenner, or maybe the Spider, but both of those were light 'Mechs.

This thing could be the ultimate hunter-killer. It was just going to take work, a lot of work. Of course, he was never one to shy away from a challenge. Question is, how much could he get it for. And really, how much was it worth to begin with.

Sigil started towards the front of the warehouse, where he'd last seen Jax heading.

"I'll tell you what, Jax. I'll take it off your hands for half a million."

Jax choked on his coffee, blowing it out all over the floor. Wiping his mouth off on the sleeve of his aged flak jacket, he coughed out, "Sold. And I'll throw in free delivery, just gimme an address."

-

Sigil was standing outside the 69th's 'Mech Hangar on Galatea waiting for his delivery to arrive. He heard the low rumbling of the hauler coming before he saw it. It was pulling a wheeled flatbed behind it as it pulled up to the hangar doors.

A grizzled man chewing on a cigar hopped out of the cab holding a datapad. "You Sigil?"

Nodding, Sigil replied, walking out toward the flatbed. "Yea, that's me. This is the 69th's hangar. You're in the right place."

The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Where you want me to dump this rusty old POS? And sorry about the legs, they snapped clear off when I loaded it. I just threw them up on the bed for ya. Sign here." He shoved the datapad into Sigil's hand.

Hearing the arrival of a hauler, Leutnant Hamilton came strolling out of the hangar. "What the hell is that!?" he asked looking at the rusting, legless hulk on the flatbed. "Sorry, bud, this ain't the scrap yard. Now scram, we're not interested in your trash."

Sigil turned facing Hamilton, turning bright red. "Uhh…umm… this is…, uh…, my trash." He signed the man's datapad, handing it back to him. "Just back the flatbed into the hangar here. I'll get on the crane and move it into one of the bays."

Sigil fled back into the hangar, leaving Hamilton to gape at the ancient 'Mech husk.

-

Lt. Hamilton, Lt. Weddle, and Corporal Southers were all sitting around in the Mechwarrior lounge. A holovid of one of the Solaris VII 'Mech fights was on. A pair of Jenners were working their way around either side of a Quickdraw. It looked more like a macabre dance then a fight, with all three 'Mechs continuously jumping and spinning as they fought for positioning.

Hamilton chuckled. "Yea, can you believe it? Sig actually paid for that!"

Weddle laughed. "I'm still trying to figure out what the hell it is! Someone should have gone ahead and melted that thing down, put it out of its misery already! What does he want with it anyway?"

Hamilton shrugged. "You know how Sig is, he was rattling on about some ridiculous plan to turn it into the, and I swear to Kerensky he used these exact words, 'The Ultimate Hunter-Killer 'Mech'. Besides, he hasn't been able to turn up any parts to repair that Clint of his yet. Looks like he's getting desperate."

Weddle snorted, slapping his knee and knocking over the nearby bowl of pretzels in his gales of laughter. "The Inner Sphere's first paraplegic 'Mech! I hope whatever he plans on hunting can't move or shot back! I dub it the ASN-00 Assontheground!"

Corporal Southers kept quiet as the two Leutnants continued to joke. He couldn't figure it out either. Really, it was crazy. Back on Alshain, when the Colonel had wrangled the massive AS7-D Atlas out of the Overste as part of their exchange rights, he had asked Sigil to pilot it. And Sigil had refused.

Unbelievable. The heaviest 'Mech in existence. A Deathgiver AC/20, a Doombud LRM-20, four Hellion-V medium lasers, and a Thunderstroke SRM-6 launcher to top it off. And more armor than any other piece of military hardware in existence, except maybe a DropShip. It was the Assault 'Mech. Man, what he wouldn't give to climb into the cockpit of that monster!

And Sigil turned it down. Said he wouldn't pilot anything except his beloved Clint. And now he had dropped a half million of his own C-bills on an old beat up Assassin chassis…

-

Sigil was lovingly cleaning the rust and residue off one of the detached legs of the Maltex chassis when Corporal Southers entered hangar.

Sigil looked up, "Cleans up good, doesn't it? I know it isn't much to look at, but I gave it a proper examination before I dropped my bonus on buying it. I'm not stupid. It's mostly just superficial. Been sitting there for so long all the fluids leaked out, that's what caused most of the rust. The structural integrity is actually pretty good. And the chassis design is pretty cool. It's going to be a cinch to modify this thing. Check it out. It's kinda modular. Look at the hardpoints."

The Assassin's torso was laid out prone on the floor of one of the 'Mech bays. Sigil gestured to the right torso. "That's where the Holly-5 LRM launcher was. I'm gonna replace it with a Hovertec SRM Quad. Like the one on the Quickdraw. Hamilton modified his Shadowhawk to carry one of those too. A nice, compact little launcher. It'll slide right in here. All the hookups are already there. I gotta say this chassis has got all the space in the world to work with."

Sigil pointed at the left torso. "See there? That's where the Holly SRM-2 was. I'm going to fill that hole with one of those new medium pulse lasers they just started making."

He motioned over towards the right arm next. "I'm not doing anything fancy there, just restore the original Martell medium to the arm. Not much else I can do without shaving off a bit of weight from somewhere. It's only got 10 heat sinks and 4.5 tons of armor as it is, so I can't save any weight there."

A mischievous grin broke out across Sigil's face, as he lowered his voice, looking at Southers conspiratorially. "It's all in the engine, Marshall. Right now it's got a Vox 280 weighing 16 tons. 40% of the total weight of the entire 'Mech is in this engine!"

Sigil triumphantly pointed at the heavily damaged fusion engine lying exposed in the chest.

"This is where I'm going to save weight! You know how they make those Freezers, Southers? They make the radiators out of this crystalline polymer stuff. I've heard some of the engine manufacturers are making the radiation shielding for the fusion reactor out of another kind of crystalline polymer. And just like with the Freezers, it makes it much more bulky but it practically doubles the efficiency. I estimate I could save four to eight tons on this engine if I could get my hands on some on that new shielding."

Southers looked down at the engine speculating. "If you so say so, Sigil. I don't care what kind of engine you manage to put in there, there's still no way it'll ever stand up to that Atlas. I heard the Colonel offered it to you, and you turned it down. I don't get it. I've never heard of anyone turning down an opportunity like that before."

Sigil looked at the Corporal and scowled. "Why does it always have to be about how much armor, or how much firepower a 'Mech has? For me, it all about maneuverability. How fast and how far can it jump. Tactical position, Southers. I want a 'Mech that can get me exactly where I want to go, and get me there fast. You can stand there and slug it out if you want. Me, I want to dance."

Sigil turned back, looking down at the Assassin. "And mark my words, this baby, it can tango!"

-

The bills were mounting. 375,000 on engine repairs, 225,000 on the gyro, 80,000 on all new myomer, 18,800 on replacement actuators, 45,000 in armor, and 220,000 in new weapons. He'd sunk about 1.5 million into the entire project so far. Not too bad, really, if you considered the market value for an ASN-21 was about 3.7 million. Actually, if you looked at it that way, it'd been a steal. With his technical skills, he could probably bank roll refurbishing old 'Mech chassis if he was so inclined.

Of course, he was still at least another 2 million short of where he needed to be, according to the tattooed Oriental man he'd gone to for the grey market pulse laser. First, Sigil asked him if he could get an extralight Vox 280 engine. The man told him there were rumors Edasich Motors was working on a 280XL for a redesigned Archer, but the Assassin was out of production and he seriously doubted anyone would be working on an upgraded engine for it.

So Sigil had asked if it might be possible to purchase the lightweight radiation shielding straight up. His best guess was that he would need four to six tons of it. The man gave him an appraising look, and told him he would check. And he had. Half a million C-bills per ton.

A serious chunk of change to drop on a project that might turn out to be nothing but wishful thinking. Not that he had that kind of money anyway.

But he knew where he could get it.

Chapter 2

Galatea  
3044  
Lyran Commonwealth

The cockpit of the Assassin was insanely small. Sigil gritted his teeth as he maneuvered his way into the command couch. He could barely get his elbows canted out around the joysticks without hitting the sides. To make matters worse, the couch itself was confining, practically wrapping itself around him in an uncomfortably tight embrace.

He sighed. It was a well-known flaw of the design. At least he was fairly small of stature. It would probably prove nearly impossible for someone larger to even get into the cockpit without help.

It thrummed to life as he started the fusion reactor, the Garret 500S coming online. Another feature sadly lacking. The best thing that could be said for the targeting and tracking system was that it had target identification. No damage ID, no lock-on indicator, and a paltry 90-degree scanning arc lacking infrared mode.

Ok, maybe this wasn't his best idea, but it was too late now, anyway.

The announcer's Scottish burr came over the speakers. "It's now time for tonight's main event, the moment you've all waiting for! Ladies and Gentleman, strap your selves in, it's going to be a wild ride tonight! After his stunning defeat of Scotty McDaniels in his beloved Hatchetman, Lizzie Borden, last year, tonight, Sigil makes his return to The Games!"

Sigil raised the left hand of his Assassin up over its head, balling it into a fist and giving a quick double pump. He couldn't help but grin. Something about the bright lights and crazed screaming fans infected him with a peculiar type of madness.

Once again he left the live cockpit camera feed on. Let them see and feel what it's like to be strapped into a rocket. He feathered the Lox Lift Series I jump jets, making it appear as if he was floating off the ground.

Unconsciously he reached down, checking to make sure the Sternsacht Dawg had given him was strapped to his thigh. It was.

The announcer continued. "That's right! Make no mistake about it! Sigil is piloting a 40-ton Assassin. A fitting 'Mech for the man who put a bullet right through the skull of Scotty McDaniels in this very arena! And he's certainly out for blood again tonight!"

Sigil winced, closing his eyes as the terrifying final scene of that duel played out through his mind. The dense smoke slowly clearing as he limped ahead, the smell of burned out actuators, the crackling of the fire as it greedily licked at the fallen Hatchetman, and finally the cracked canopy.

He shook his head fiercely, desperately trying to recollect his thoughts. He hadn't thought about that day for months, since before Alshain. And now certainly wasn't the time for it.

The announcer screamed on. "And, now, a woman who needs no introduction, Virote Isamu! Piloting "Samba", her 45-ton Vindicator, you can rest assured she's as bloodthirsty as her opponent. With over a dozen victories in The Games, she's looking to seal her place at the top of the medium division with a win tonight!"

On the far side of the arena, Virote's Vindicator strode out into the spotlight. Tiger stripes crisscrossed the 'Mech, the barrel of the Tronel XIII heavy pulse laser sporting jagged teeth down either side. She executed a short, precise bow, then straightened, her left arm stroking the barrel of the heavy weapon lovingly.

"Mechwarriors, prepare for battle!"

Sigil fixed his eyes on the flashing red light.

Red. Red. Red. Yellow. Yellow. Green.

The Assassin accelerated to almost 120 km/h in seconds, throwing Sigil back against the command couch, as it sprinted over 300 meters dead ahead in a stunning display of speed.

Virote's Vindicator began circling cautiously to the right, refusing to stray far from the wall.

The Assassin's speed wouldn't allow them to keep distance for long, and Sigil closed quickly, trusting to his 'Mechs swiftness to keep him safe.

They were within shooting range in seconds. Sigil keep the Assassin at full speed, closing to within 180 meters, then arcing around to maintain the distance, as the Vindicator continued to circle right.

He alpha-striked the Vindicator, one of the missiles from his Hovertec Quad exploded against its knee, the other a little higher on the left torso. The Magna 400P pulse laser traced a path on its right arm, as the original Martell missed wide.

Smiling in satisfaction, his HUD suddenly flashed red as a metallic voice sounded, "Left Arm Shoulder Actuator: Failed." The Vindicator's Tronel XIII heavy pulse had destroyed the entire armor covering his left arm, leaving only half of the internal structure remaining. That thing hit hard. And if it hit his leg, it'd go internal there too.

This is when he missed Damage ID the most. He was never really that good at reading a 'Mechs condition on visuals only in live combat. Actuator hits are one of the toughest.

Sigil arced tighter into the arena trying to draw the Vindicator off the wall. She wasn't biting, keeping her back shielded against the wall and using various barriers. His Hovertec recycled and he let fly another alpha-strike.

One of the missiles hit dead center, as the 400P drilled into the scratched left torso. The Martell scorched paint off the Tronel XIII's barrel. Sigil growled. His full firepower wasn't even enough to knock the 45-ton 'Mech back. He should have replaced that Martell, but even that wouldn't have been enough. There was no escaping the simple fact that when it came to firepower, she was a light-weight.

-

Virote smiled sinfully in her cockpit as her heavy pulse laser stripped armor off the Assassin's left leg. He was down to structure it two places now. With nine tons of Starshield armor, she could soak up anything that antique had to fire for as long as she needed.

And it wouldn't take long. She was aiming low. Three short range missiles exploded across the running 'Mechs legs, one of them right against the hip of the exposed left leg. She saw the blue sparks and the telltale lockup of the leg. Nailed the hip actuator. Perfect. His only advantage was speed, and this would definitely slow him down.

-

****** the alarms wouldn't stop going off! "Left Leg Hip Actuator: Failed" stamped itself across his HUD. He'd rebuilt those hips himself. Even with the structure damaged it would hold.

He breath was knocked away as he rocketed straight back over 200 meters, the Loft Lifters open full bore. By Kerensky did she fly! As he hit the apex, he had an excellent view of the entire arena setup. It changed from match to match, large ferrocrete slabs on huge tracked mounts were arranged immediately before combat began.

He saw the perfect spot. He dropped down behind a series of tall barriers, blocking the view of the Vindicator. If there's one thing he was, it was a natural pilot. He brought it down cushioning the left leg as he landed. The Lox Lifters were very responsive once you got the feel for them. The leg would hold unless it took more damage.

-

Virote got that first sniff of blood. Jumping with a damaged hip, she sneered. He probably went down like a ton a bricks. She moved off the wall, moving purposefully towards where the Assassin had landed. "Come out, if you can," she laughed.

-

She was closing. This was it. He played it out for a second. He still couldn't see her, but the tactical display showed her closing. As the rangefinder estimated 300 meters, he fired the Lox Lifters again for everything they were worth. Truth was, he couldn't really walk anyway.

The pure acceleration of the Assassin was the rush. It literally rocketed straight up and over the ferrocete barrier in a blast of fiery plasma. She didn't even have time to fire the SRMs, and her Tronell wasn't even close. Even without Damage ID, he knew her rear armor was light.

The Quad sent missiles against her left leg and right arm. But the new 400P drilled right through the left rear torso, stripping it bare.

-

Virote ground her teeth as she tried to swing Samba around to face the agile 'Mech. It was just too fast, like a cheetah. He wasn't even trying to use the hip, just flying like an annoying bug she was wanted to smack down.

Missiles exploded again all down her left leg, as the pulse laser tore into the internals of her left torso. A heat sink failure flashed briefly. No big deal, she just needed one more good shot, anyway. No problem, she could use the barriers to her advantage too.

-

The Assassin was heating up dangerously. The Lox Lifters were like flame throwers strapped against his back. With the kind of heat that was already built up, even if he wanted too he couldn't walk at this point.

He just kept them burning. Another 200 meters through the air, once again using he ferrocrete barriers to break their line of sight. Dammit. It still wasn't really cooling off much. He'd gotten too used to the Freezers in his Clint. These were still originals.

-

Virote grinned at the her thermal scanners. He was burning himself alive in there. He couldn't keep jumping forever. She cautiously approached the perimeter where he'd gone down. Her Tronel XIII braced against her right arm.

She knew he'd jump again. Between the heat and the hip, there wasn't any other way he could move at this point. He was one helluva pilot, she'd grant him that much. She targeted directly above the barrier. As soon as she saw flames, she sent everything she had against him.

-

Two missiles exploded against his already damaged left leg, as one corkscrewed into his chest. More warnings. "Upper Left Leg Actuator: Failed. Lower Left Leg Acutator: Failed. Left Leg: Critical Damage."

Whatever, it had to hold at this point, he was already in the air. He was becoming predictable. She knew he was going to do that. The Tronel stripped the armor of his left torso bare. The medium pulse was in there. And his Jump Jets.

She'd pay for it though. He could still outmaneuver her, hands down. He couldn't help but glance at the heat scale.

He brought the Assassin down right behind her once again. This is gonna burn you as much as it's going to burn me. The heat spiked unbearably as he unleashed another full volley. The Martell melted almost all the right rear torso armor away, the missiles flying just over the Vindicators shoulder. The reticle skipped ominously across the HUD. The heat was now beginning to impair the electronics as well.

He was a good shot. He had confidence now. Been through enough battles, spent enough time practicing. He liked to play it off as if he was lucky to Weddle and Hamilton. But the truth was, he was a good shot. The Colonel has seen to it. Live fire exercises every day until his marks had been good enough to meet the Colonel's exacting standards. And not just one set. Three consecutive sets.

Ok the pulse technology helped too. Sigil stitched a line across the hole opened by the Martell. The Vindicator was spinning back around into a firing position.

Reflexively, Sigil slammed the throttle to the Lox Lifters wide open again. The smell of burning and already burnt electronics filled the cockpit, along with a thin wisp of smoke. As he rose on pillars of flame, the entire HUD flickered again, then flashed a final warning: "Heat Threshold Exceeded: Initiating Auto Shut Down."

Sigil desperately smashed the override. Come on baby, come on baby, please! The ground was coming up way to fast, if he could just get it restarted. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a huge explosion, and watched as the Vindicator's mangled right arm pin wheeled across the floor.

It wasn't going to reset. The impact was bone jarring and it knocked him entirely out for a few seconds. The Assassin smashed into the ground unimpeded, completely crushing the already damaged left arm. Armor shredded off all over it as it screeched to a superheated stop. In a dazed state, Sigil continued pressing the Override.

-

The crowd was going insane as the color commentator gave voice to the unfolding spectacle. "Unbelievable! Both 'Mechs are down! I can't recall having seen anything like it before! Virote's Vindicator is protected by one of the new those CASE units. And it's a good thing too. That last shot set off her ammunition! I'm not sure about Sigil's Assassin, though. I think it might be down for the count! There can't be anything left holding that left leg on after a crash like that! The left arm is definitely gone!"

-

It was still unbelievably hot in the cockpit. Sweat clouded his vision as he slapped the stimpak on his thigh, shaking his head. "System Restart… Initiated. Voice identification required.

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door," Sigil responded.

-

Between the neural feedback of the ammunition explosion and the resulting fall, Virote was unconscious. The entire right side of her 'Mech has been blown clean away, the CASE funneling the explosion away from the vulnerable fusion engine.

-

The entire wire diagram, except the center right portion of his chest, glowed red with structural damage. The left arm was just a black outline. But amazingly, the damaged left leg had held. 16% structure remaining. Well, he had done all the work himself, he managed a grin.

He opened a private directional comlink to the Vindicator.

"Hey, Virote. If we can both manage to stand up, what say we call it a draw and split the purse 50/50. That way we'll both at least have some beer money left over after repairs. Then we can stick it to the promoters and have a rematch for double the purse!" He chuckled.

-

Virote shook her head groggily as a voice penetrated her consciousness. "…we call it a draw and split the purse 50/50. That way we'll both at least have some beer…"

She continued to shake her head. Sure, her head was ringing like a bell and the entire right side was gone, but everything else was in good shape. Well, her rear armor was pretty non-existent at this point. But, her Tronel XIII was in her left arm.

"…double the purse!" She paused, momentarily confused by what she'd just heard, and thumbed her comlink, "What'd you just say?"

Was that a chuckle she just heard? "I said, if we can both stand up, let's call it a draw, and have a rematch for twice the purse. It'll drive the promoters insane!"

She could take him. Couldn't she? Interesting offer though.

-

Sigil gingerly rolled the Assassin onto it right's side. What was remained of the left leg was totally locked. He levered himself up, bending his right leg beneath him to bear most of the weight. All of the laser indicators were green and the Hovertec surprisingly showed as loaded.

-

Virote's eyes narrowed cunningly. "We split the purse 75/25, me. Even if you do manage to get up, it won't be for long."

She started pushing her 'Mech back to its feet when she was interrupted. "I'm already up, and I'll be behind your cute little ass in about 3 seconds if you don't agree to an equal 50/50 split." She heard the missile lock warning.

"Ok, 50/50. But you're buying the beer!"

As she stood up, she saw the Assassin power down its weapons. "And I don't drink the cheap shit, you understand." She flicked her remaining weapons offline.

"You pick the place. I… uh… don't get out much."

She laughed as she gave the heavily listing Assassin a short bow. Well, her 'Mech was just as lopsided if she was willing to admit that to herself.

-

The commentator was beside himself. "He fought her to a draw! Unbelievable! Ladies and Gentleman, the competitors have agreed to split the purse 50/50. And…" He paused trying to build up the crowd. "…they have already challenged each other to a re-match! This isn't over yet! Do I sense the makings of a bitter rivalry developing here?! Sigil certainly manages to stir things up whenever he steps into the arena! And Virote! Her quest for the top seat in the medium division isn't quite over yet, either! Next month won't arrive soon enough for me!"

"Wait… what's this? Really? I just received confirmation. They're doubling the purse for the re-match! Two million C-bills on the line! And the number one spot in the medium-division! It's going to be a title match, ladies and gentleman! Remember, in the event of a draw, both combatants get half the points of a victory, not zero. That means if Virote pulls off a win next month, she'll be in the top spot! Even if Ivan Forrester wins next month too! We have all the makings of a memorable duel indeed! No way you want to miss this one!"

-

Sigil looked around the place. She wasn't kidding. Rich bamboo paneling, elaborate sliding paper walls, intricate silk tapestries on the wall. He sat down in a small woven wicker chair in front of a low table. It seemed about the size of the Assassin's command couch, he frowned.

He looked up as Virote Isamu took her seat directly opposite of him. She was dressed in a red embroidered Kimono, stylized with leaping tigers. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun, and pinned behind her.

She waved a delicate hand. "Don't worry. I'll handle the ordering." She gave him a mischievous grin.

The waiter appeared almost as soon as she sat down. Virote turn to him, saying, "Tempura, two dragon rolls, the Kobe beef Keseki, and a bottle of your finest dai gingo sake."

He gave a respectful bow and disappeared without a word, closing the paper panel walls around them.

"You got lucky, Sigil. Admit it." She smiled innocently at him. "I just want to hear you say it."

Sigil snorted. "When you don't have any more rear armor across your entire back, sweetie, that isn't luck. That's my piloting."

She rolled her eyes. "One more love tap with that Tronel, and you'd have been scrap. We both know it."

Sigil held his hands up. "Ok, enough. We'll find out next month, so let's agree to let it lie, shall we?"

She laughed lightly. "Calling another truce, are you? Well, I agreed to the first, so I suppose I'm obligated to agree to the second. Fair enough."

The dai gingo sake arrived. "This sake is made from Kame no O, which is a pure strain of rice. Traces to Amarune, Yamagata Prefecture, in ancient feudal Japan back on Terra." She held her sleeve with a concise motion, neatly pouring them each a small ceramic bowl of the clear liquid from the tokkuri.

Saying, "Kanpai," Virote raised her glass.

-

Chapter 3

Galatea  
3044  
Lyran Commonwealth

Hamilton shook his head as Sigil's Assassin returned to the hangar on a crawler. That thing was like a tin can with rockets strapped to it. He was convinced every time Sigil took to the battlefield he'd end up dead.

He was flamboyant. And, frankly, sometimes reckless. Like when he'd jumped into the middle of that lake on Vega. Or when he jumped right in front that Strike Lance on Carbonis. Or when he pushed that Atlas on Alshain. Sooner or later, his luck would swing the other way. He just hoped he wouldn't have to be there to see it.

He believed in massive firepower well placed at a distance. He'd give ground freely to keep his targets as far away as possible for as long as possible. Especially now that he was piloting a Highlander. The M-7 Gauss Rifle combined with the Holly 20 rack was like a one, two knockout punch. And they both reached out a good 600 meters. More damage at an even greater distance than his former Warhammer.

The HildCo Model 10 Jump Jets also gave the behemoth surprising maneuverability. He could see why Sigil was addicted to them. The 'Hammer he used to pilot didn't have them, and he had found himself caught in a few tights spots he could have avoided because of it. And the legs were heavily reinforced. He knew all to well what it was like to be ganged by a trio of 'Mechs all kicking.

It was his one fear. Losing a leg. He'd seen dozens of 'Mechs go down, their legs blown off or destroyed. He knew what it meant. Surrender if you're lucky, death if you're not.

Sigil looked un-phased as he hopped out of the cab of the crawler. "Just back into the hangar like last time and I'll get on the crane."

He came up to Hamilton. "Hey, what are you up to?"

Hamilton shrugged. "Nothing much. I guess your going to rebuild it?"

Sigil scowled. "Left arm is entirely gone, the left leg is going to have to be completely rebuilt. Again. It's going to be a real pain to find all the replacement actuators. I dunno." He eyed the Assassin speculatively.

Hamilton looked at it. There wasn't a piece of intact armor plating left on the entire 'Mech. "You know that thing has armor like a Locust. One single shot with my M-7 would destroy your arm or near take one of your legs clean off. And it'd penetrate the structure no matter where it hit you. Hell, that girl was making Swiss cheese outta you in the arena with that heavy pulse, Sig." He smirked.

Sigil kicked at the ferrocrete. "I know. I know. Doesn't have much of a punch to it either. She was shrugging off my alpha-strikes." He looked at Hamilton sheepishly.

Hamilton nodded. "The funny thing is, makes your Clint look like a tough brawler by comparison." He laughed.

"Ya, I'm not in any rush to repair it. It's just not time yet. Maybe in another five years I'll be able to buy an Extralight Vox 280. I can't figure out any other way to address the poor armor and weak weapons loadout. I could just drop Freezers into it to take care of that horrendous heat problem, but that's just not enough."

The warning siren of the crawler began going off as it started to backing into the hangar.

"I gotta get on that crane." Sigil sprinted off into the hangar.

-

By the Usurper! He was going to have to pilot that Assassin again! Tavish Donegal had made it clear in no uncertain terms. It was all spelled out in the contract he'd signed with barely a thought. If he didn't show up at the re-match in his Assassin, it was a forfeit, and Virote Isamu would have exchange rights on his 'Mech too.

Sure, he could make some modifications, but if it wasn't an Assassin, automatic forfeit. No wonder she'd been so smug at that ridiculously expensive dinner. To be brutally honest, his 40-ton Assassin was no match for her Vindicator, and he knew it.

He looked over at the damaged 'Mech. It was being held up by a crane at the moment. The left leg so horribly damaged he didn't trust it to stand without help.

His eyes narrowed in on the Vox 280 for the thousandth time. Realistically, it was the only place he might be able to shave off a precious ton or two. He had to do something. Desperation was setting in.

-

He'd paid an arm and a leg for an arm and a leg. Maltex Corporation originally built the Assassin in 2676, however, their main production line was destroyed in 2835. Hellespont Industrials, headquartered on Sian, capital of the Capellan Confederation, had ended up buying the design rights after Maltex lost its manufacturing facilities.

He would have been surprised if more than a thousand of them had even ever been made.

The end result was simply that not only was no one making the Assassin anymore, but spare parts for it were incredibly rare. Occasionally, Hellespont would spit out a run of parts, but the cost was exorbitant. He'd paid 68,800 for a left arm, and 104,000 for the left leg. And, he considered himself lucky to have even found them. Given the scarcity, there was no room for haggling. You paid full and said thank you. Which is exactly what he had done. It was almost as bad as trying to find Clint parts, he sighed.

Add that to the 175,000 he'd sunk into seven Freezers, 40,000 on another Martell medium, and 50,000 in armor, he'd already spent almost 450,000 of the 500,000 share of the purse he'd split with Virote. He'd never have guessed how accurate he would turn out to be when he'd told her, "We'll both at least have some beer money left over after repairs." After taking her out to dinner, that was about all he did have left.

-

He'd done the basic idea on just about all the 'Mechs in the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force already, including his own Clint. Strip the engine down, pull off all the original graphite radiators built into the regenerative cooling system and replace them with the lighter, bulkier ones made out of crystalline polymer. Basically, rebuild the fusion engine with Freezers.

This little job was going to be a variant on that theme. The regenerative cooling system of the stock Vox 280 had ten graphite radiators. He was going to rebuild it with only seven. But all seven were going to be the new double strength ones. If it all worked out, he figured he'd save somewhere between one and four tons on the overall weight of the engine. At least, that was the plan.

No doubt it was a gamble. One engine hit, definitely two, would almost certainly force an automatic safety shutdown. But there just wasn't anywhere else to go. It was the only option, and a dicey one at that.

-

One and a half tons. Sigil beamed. The rebuilt Vox 280 came in at 14.5 tons. He'd mounted a second Martell medium on the new left arm, attached the replacement left leg, and added a total of a half ton of armor across the vulnerable extremities.

Not to mention the seven Freezers actually dissipated 40% more heat than the original ten heat sinks.

He chuckled to himself. A masterpiece of engineering, really. Now it was finally time to fire it back up. The re-match was still a good five days off.

He clambered up the ladder, levering himself into the confined cockpit. Time to see if she started. He held his breath as he tripped the ignition switch.

The diagnostic interpretation computer emitted a series of beeps and then began flashing, "System Type Mismatch."

Sigil slammed his hand down hard against the armrest in frustration. It wouldn't boot up! The DI had detected something that prevented it from allowing the fusion engine to start. It was a probably some kind safety feature to prevent a potentially catastrophic failure from harming the pilot.

He climbed back out of the cockpit, growling. He'd have to hook up to the diagnostic computer and see if he could determine what the problem was. Maybe look up that beep code too, see if that told him anything.

Time. It all boiled down to time. And he was running out.

-

It'd taken time, and some digging, but he'd finally found it. Apparently, the core logic of the Diagnostic Interpretation computer prevented the fusion engine from starting when it was unable to determine the status of a minimum of ten heat sinks. It didn't look like it mattered what their status was, operational, failed, destroyed, or whatever, they just had to exist.

It was probably coded in back in the 25th century, when BattleMechs were in their inception. Hell, even the Mackie had fifteen heat sinks. In fact, there wasn't a 'Mech in the readouts that had less than ten.

Fine. The DI wants ten heat sinks, how about fourteen instead? He chuckled to himself as he opened up the first wiring harness.

He ran an additional four lines for heat sink sensors down from the DI, adding them to the three he had clipped off earlier when he'd rebuilt the engine.

Smirking, he fixed the seven sensors, one each, to the existing seven heat sinks. Now each heat sink had two sensors instead of one. The DI would effectively count each heat sink twice, for a total of fourteen.

Perfect. He'd already updated the Garett 500S to recognize the Martell medium in the new left arm. Now he just needed to recalibrate the internal thermal monitoring so it would track his heat correctly.

-

The moment of truth. Sigil sat in the cramped command couch of the Assassin, his hand hovering over the ignition switch. This had better work. There was no Plan C.

With a nod to Dr. Frankenstein, he flicked the switch. The electronics flickered to life. He held his breath as he watched the system messages begin scrolling by.

System Clock: OK  
CPU Initialized Successfully  
Accessing ROM BIOS: OK

Beginning POST…  
BIOS: OK  
CMOS RAM: OK  
CPU: OK  
System RAM: OK

Loading Diagnostic Interpretation System…  
Actuators: 100%  
Myomer: 100%  
Gyroscope: 100%

Verifying Cooling Systems…  
Cooling System: 100%  
Fusion Engine: 100%

Jump Jets: 100%  
Sensors: 100%

Initializing Life Support System…  
Life Support System: Online  
Ejection System: Enabled  
Waste System: 100%

Initializing Targeting and Tracking System…  
Targeting and Tracking System: Online

Initializing Communications System…  
Communications System: Online

Initializing Damage Assessment System…  
Damage Assessment System: Online

Initializing Neural Interface System…  
Neural Interface System: Online

Sigil felt the Vox 280 thrum to life under him, followed by the familiar smell of scrubbed air from the life support system.

Best of all, he still had time to field test it before the match.

-

Chapter 4

Galatea  
3044  
Lyran Commonwealth

Chapter 4

It was a sold out show. On a planet like the Mercenary's Star where nearly everyone was involved somehow with the machinery of war, The Games represented an irresistible blend of work and play.

Or perhaps it was more similar to the ancient Roman gladiatorial arenas of Terra. A welcome diversion from an otherwise brutal and often short existence.

Strapped into the cockpit of the Assassin, Sigil wondered if he had become an adrenaline junkie. Dawg didn't make any bones about it. As the Captain of a jump infantry squad, he literally had jets strapped to his back, and basically no armor at all. Said he did it for the rush.

Ya, jumping out of a VTOL with just a sub-machine gun as it screamed over a battlefield field filled with armored death machines with enough firepower to level a city must be one helluva rush, alright.

His hand snaked down to pat the Sternsacht strapped to his leg. Dawg had given it to him right before his first arena fight. Ya, Dawg might be the only one who understood him.

The razor thin red line. The keen edge that makes the deadly cut. It wasn't about winning or losing. It was about the spectacular. Reaching the nexus between man and machine, that mystical moment when you fuse with your 'Mech and you can make it do anything! The singularity.

That's what he craved. That's why, in the end, he sought out situations just like this. How ironic the imminent threat of death makes you feel the most alive.

He shook his head. It was almost show time.

-

Virote settled herself into "Samba", her 45-ton Vindicator. She'd clinch the title in the medium division this very night.

The new Imperator Code Red LB 10-X autocannon would practically guarantee it. It was nice to have friends. Even if you didn't know exactly who they were.

It was a half a million C-bill state-of-the-art weapon. And it was loaded with cluster munitions, like a huge anti-'Mech shotgun.

If Sigil thought her Tronel XIII had been bad, wait until he got a face full of this monster. She'd also upgraded the CeresArms medium to their new Model W medium pulse just to be on the safe side. He did like to jump a lot.

She giggled. He was kinda cute in a geeky sorta way.

However, obviously someone wanted Ivan Forrester to lose his top spot. After rebuilding Samba's entire right side, she didn't have cash like that lying around.

Of course, she knew better than to ask questions. So when her repair parts delivery arrived and there was a gleaming, factory new, Imperator Code Red, she figured someone must want her to use it.

And that someone wanted her to win. And, you know, she was OK with that.

-

The announcer didn't have to work hard to whip up the crowd. They went wild as soon as Sigil's Assassin stepped into the arena.

"Ladies and gentleman, the moment we've all been waiting for has finally arrived! Tonight's main Event! With a win tonight, Virote Isamu will clinch the top spot in the medium division!"

"And trying to stop her is Sigil, former 3rd Lyran Guard, veteran of the War of '39, and founding member of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force, headquartered right here on the Mercenary Star. Planetary assault Vega, Objective raid Carbonis, planetary assault Alshain, he's seen a lot of action! Why, look at this! We've got nobility among us tonight, ladies and gentleman! Sigil was granted to the title of Hertig by Prince Magnusson himself of the Free Rasalhague Republic! Oh my God, he's a Duke! Duke Sigil!"

Sigil could hear the crowd screaming right through the canopy. He hit the Lox Lifters, shooting him 30 meters straight up into the air on jets of superheated plasma. As he reached the apex, he swung his left arm around in a wide arc pointing to the crowd, then landed where he had taken off.

They were going berserk in the stands.

"Now there's a man who knows how to put on a show!"

Virote's Vindicator appeared at the far end of the arena, freshly painted tiger stripes reflecting in the bright sunlight.

"And here's Virote Isamu in "Samba!" Look at that left arm! Looks like she's packing a nasty surprise! No doubt, she means to take the division title tonight, ladies and gentleman! Ivan Forrester is in his private skybox watching. There's a lot riding on tonight's fight for both of them."

"And let's not forget there's also a two million C-bill purse for tonight's winner. That's real money folks. Better get your bets in now, I have a feeling it's going to be a short fight!"

Sigil punched up Virote's Vindicator on his optical scanner. The huge barrel on the left arm sported a stylized dragon's head, fire gouting from its mouth, coursing towards the end of the barrel. Man, where'd she get these paintjobs? They were phenomenal.

Ballistic definitely. He scrunched his eyes closed, trying to remember. He'd seen something similar before somewhere. Oh. Oh no. His face sagged as he opened his eyes. The Defiance Disintegrator on Lizzie Borden. A LB 10-X class autocannon.

Ursurper! That changed the entire calculation. She had twice the range. He was only good out to 270 meters, that thing had a range of 540! And cluster munitions!

He felt his heart sinking. This is bad. Very, very bad.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ready light blink.

Red. Red. Yellow. Yellow. Green.

He stomped on the Lox Lifters, flying into the air at over 75 km/p. He needed the aerial view of the arena. Cover. He needed cover to close the distance. He spotted a few potential grouping of barriers, as he landed smoothly a good 200 meters later.

She wasn't clinging to the wall either, this time. She approached steadily with the confidence of a hunter.

Sigil slammed the throttle wide open, racing desperately for the cover of the barriers some 300 meters away. A lesser 'Mech would have taken twice the time to get there. But at 120 km/h, the Assassin just ate up the distance.

He heard the first blast of the Code Red as Virote sought to target him. She had the range, but he was just too fast.

The Assassin skidded to a stop, safely behind the barrier. She was waiting for him to come out.

-

Virote whistled pleasantly to herself. He's going to jump for the next set of barriers. She fixed the reticle just above the top of the ferrocrete barrier, bracing the huge autocannon with her right arm. And when he does…, her finger twitched over the trigger.

Suddenly, the Assassin came darting out around the right side of the barrier, making another mad dash towards cover. She snapped the reticle down and to her right trying to target the fleet 'Mech and squeezing off another shot reflexively.

Another miss.

She gave a throaty growl as she began a slow advance towards were the Assassin was cowering. She could take a few hits. He couldn't.

-

Predictability. That's what got you killed. You had to mix it up, keep your opponents guessing. He knew he'd thrown her when he'd made another run for it instead of jumping.

She was closing now. She held the clear advantage in range, firepower and armor. All he had was speed. But it had it in aces.

He came screaming out from behind the ferrocrete, his torso twisted to the right as he arced in tightly around to her left, seeking to flank her.

-

As soon as the Assassin appeared, Virote slammed her throttle in reverse. The Assassin sped around to her left, but she had timed it perfectly. He wasn't getting behind her yet. She'd learned that lesson the hard way last fight. She swung her torso around, tracking it, and squeezed the target interlock.

The Code Red roared as another round of cluster munitions went just wide of the speeding Assassin, the short range missiles exploding where the 'Mech has been only seconds before.

Damn, that thing was fast!

-

Sigil was at the ragged edge of his firing range. Both arm mounted Martells shot out towards the Vindicator, one melting armor along its right torso. Three of the short-range missiles from the Quad rack exploded against the 'Mech as it continued to back pedal.

First blood was his!

Now it was time for the jump jets. The Lox Lifters roared to life as he leapt into the air. The Vindicator spun around, heading for the closest cover. Of course, she'd never make it in time. He landed gracefully behind her, as she wrenched her torso hard to the left.

He had closed to within 180 meters, close enough to let fly with everything he had and he did. The Martell mediums split to either side, but a pair of the short-range missiles exploded along the left side of the Vindicator's back. The 400P medium pulse tracked harmlessly left.

Heat began to build up in the cockpit.

By the Usurper, he wanted to take out that autocannon!

-

Another huge blast erupted from the mouth of the dragon as Virote fired the Code Red at short range. Again she hit nothing! Well, he had done scarcely any better.

She'd only need to catch him out one good time.

-

Sigil dashed off towards a low ferrocrete barrier, hoping to protect his vulnerable legs. Ursurper! The heat buildup was already slowing him down! He slewed his torso around as he realized he wasn't going to make it in time.

Again the Martells came up short. But a full salvo from the Hovertec Quad exploded across the Vindicator's chest, throwing off her aim and causing her Code Red, and SRMs to both miss their mark.

The heat eased up just a bit, as he careened around the low barrier. He stole a quick glance at the tactical display. She was swinging around to the left and behind him, trying to take the barrier out of play.

Grabbing the top of the barrier with his 'Mech's left hand, he gave a short burst with the Lox Lifters, sending him just over the top the barrier. He spun around to face Virote as he landed. He had to keep his legs protected.

And draw her in just enough to so that he could get around behind her again.

-

Virote couldn't help but admire Sigil's piloting as he managed to pop behind the barrier. She tied to raise her reticle to compensate and target the Assassin's center mass. The Imperator Code Red barked once again. Small chunks of ferrocrete spun away as the cluster munitions exploded against it, and the SRMs exploded harmlessly short of her target.

Twin Martell mediums shot like spears out of the Assassin, the first drilling into her left torso, the second into her right arm. The Magna 400P medium pulse stitched a line along the barrel of the Code Red in her left arm, as the SRM's flew wide.

Her face drew into a right frown. He was wearing her down slowly but surely. She needed to turn the tables, and turn them soon, while Samba was still in good shape. The armor on both arms and her left torso were down to about 50%. She could still afford a gamble or two.

She kept closing steadily on the Assassin, who was still lurking behind the barrier. He was going to jump again, she knew it. And she was going to take full advantage this time.

As soon as she saw the telltale flames erupting from it's back, she pulled Samba into a tight 180 pirouette. He wasn't the only good pilot on the field. He'd drop down right in front of her, and it'd be payback time.

-

The Vindicator's front armor was still substantial. He'd nibbled away at it again and again and it still didn't really look that damaged. Without Damage ID he couldn't be certain, though.

And, alternating between running and jumping, combined with the new Freezers, was keeping the heat levels manageable. But if he was going to win this thing, he needed to make something happen.

He slammed the Lox Lifters down, rocketing up from behind the short barrier, a trio of flaming pillars streaming out from the exhaust vents in his back. She'd gotten just a hair to close again, and he was ready to make her pay once more.

As he began his decent, he glanced down. His eyes widened in surprise as he caught Virote already spinning her 'Mech around, having anticipated exactly where he was planning to land.

He tried to throw his 'Mech's weight left as he damped down on the corresponding jump jets, in an attempt to alter his course mid flight. But the Assassin lacked the more sophisticated directional Pitban LFT-10 jets of the Spider. She'd be able to unleash her full firepower.

The Imperator Code Red unloaded practically point blank, filling the air with the tortuous scream of shredding metal as sub munitions exploded all across his descending Assassin. Missiles continued exploding across it as both her CeresArms Model W pulse and the Hessen small laser melted even more of his scarce armor.

The 'Mech pulled roughly to the left as the first HUD warning appeared. "Left Side Jump Jets: 33%." He was focused solely on bringing her back down under control. The 'Mech was skewing to one side, so he put out an arm to help stabilize the awkward landing, bending both knees as he hit the ground to lower his center of gravity.

As the Assassin skidded sideways on the ferrocrete, he returned fire. They were only about fifty meters apart now. Both lasers missed entirely, but the Hovertec managed to send a pair of short-range missiles exploding against the Code Red in the Vindicator's left arm.

She'd caught him.

-

Virote screamed in satisfaction as the Imperator Code Red caught the agile Assassin center mass. She poured her remaining firepower into the beleaguered 'Mech. Judging from the way it went down, she figured she must have damaged at least one of the exhaust ports.

As her weapons recycled, she moved in for the kill. The sweet smell of blood. The Assassin has no sooner regained its feet, then the now familiar jets of flame sent it bounding back into the air.

She swiveled her torso trying to track it, but she was too close! The Assassin disappeared out of sight above her. She glanced at her tactical trying to determine which way it was breaking, but it wasn't moving!

She froze for a moment, as a terrible realization set it. Yanking Samba back, she leaned backwards just in time to see the Assassin descending directly upon her. The plasma from its Lox Lifters already beginning to spill over her cockpit.

Reflexively she sent another alpha-strike at it, hoping to either knock it from the air, or cause him to falter at the last second. The Model W pulse melted away the last of the armor protecting the Assassin's engine and gyro, and began to eat away at the structural integrity of the 'Mech. The Hessen stripped the remaining armor from the left arm.

And then the Code Red rocked the 40-ton 'Mech for the second time. Cluster munitions exploded all over the front of the dropping 'Mech. And then she was bracing herself for the impact.

The Assassin came down on her chest, peeling armor off her center and right, as the last of the armor on her valuable left arm was scrapped away. She staggered violently backwards under the impact, fighting desperately to keep her legs under her.

-

Sigil managed to land the Assassin on its feet, but no sooner was he on the ground, then he was up and away again.

Warning klaxons filled the cockpit as the viewport flashed grim message after grim message. "Right Leg Armor: 0%. Left Arm Armor: 0%. Critical Damage: Center Torso. Critical Damage: Center Torso. CRITICAL: Overall Structural Integrity: 41%."

One more solid hit against his chest, and the 'Mech would disintegrate completely!

Virote's Vindicator was backpedalling as she sought to keep it upright. But the 45-ton 'Mech wasn't fast enough, even with the damage to the Lox Lifters, to prevent him from getting around behind her again.

She was swinging her torso around left to bring the destructive Code Red to bear on him once again, as he let fly a full strike into her lightly protected rear.

The two Martells and a pair of the short ranged missiles exploded all along her right arm and leg, but the 400P drilled directly into the exposed structure of the left arm, sending out a shower of blue sparks and hydraulic fluid.

By Kerensky, he hoped that was the Code Red!

As if in response, Virote finished bringing her left arm around, and the mighty Code Red vomited forth again. Cluster munitions exploded everywhere, as more warning messaged flashed urgently at him. "Left Arm Upper Actuator: Failed. Right Leg Hip Actuator: Failed. Critical Damage: Left Arm. Critical Damage: Right Leg." Her laser continued to weaken the armor protecting the left torso.

As the smoke cleared, Sigil could see the Code Red hanging awkwardly from the Vindicator's savaged left arm. He yelled triumphantly.

-

Virote was cussing up a storm. The Code Red was offline, leaving her with only a medium pulse laser in one arm and the Hovertec Quad. If Sigil managed to get behind her now, he'd have a free shot.

She slammed the throttle forward, Samba accelerating to its top speed of 65 km/h as she raced for the cluster of ferrocrete barriers.

Behind her, Sigil pivoted around on his good leg, unleashing another full volley at her retreating form. The Martells melted armor from her left leg and stripped away most of the armor covering her right rear. A full salvo of missiles from the Hovertec Quad completely destroyed her left arm, one of them penetrating the right rear torso and destroying a heat sink in the process.

However, it was the 400P pulse that really hurt her. Exploiting the hole created by the SRM, the medium pulse laser brutalized the structure of her right torso, knocking her Hovertec Quad offline and destroying a second heat sink.

She brought Samba around, it's back against the ferrocrete barrier and prepared to make her final stand. The Model W would have to be enough. It's all she had left.

-

As she turned back around to face him, Sigil noticed the Hovertec hadn't reloaded. Range! He had range! With the Code Red and the Hovertec out of the picture, he had a good 90 meters on her! Even with a damaged hip, he could still make a good 35 km/h backwards.

He threw the Assassin in full reverse, walking away from her now, opening up the distance. Both Martells coalesced against her left leg and chest, as one of the SRM's hit her right leg.

Her front armor held against his onslaught, but he knew he had her in a desperate spot now.

He continued backpedaling, forcing her to try and close if she wanted to get within range to fire her Model W.

Sure enough, she sent Samba hurtling straight towards him. The truth was, one hit dead center from that Model W would be enough to put him down.

He held his fire until she was 180 meters away. The Martell in the damaged arm flew wide, but the other drilled her in the chest, but failed to do any serious damage. The four short ranged missiles arced just over her head, as the 400P missed high as well.

However, her medium pulse laser didn't miss. It stitched across his damaged left arm, destroying it completely, then finished stripping the armor from his left torso. The HUD lit up again. "Left Torso Armor: 0%."

Usurper! He hardly had any armor left anywhere!

He'd drawn her back out, though, leaving her rear vulnerable, and managed to survive. It was time to end this.

He fired the Lox Lifters again, intending to leap over her head and get behind her once again.

Suddenly, Samba went arcing up and back on stream of flames as well! Shocked and confused, Sigil heart skipped a beat. She'd never used them before! He'd assumed she'd pulled out the Anderson Propulsion 30's to make space the increased firepower!

He was going to land short again!

-

A grim smile appeared on Virote's face as she fired the Propulsion 30's, sending Samba flying back a good 120 meters. It was her ace in the hole.

Sigil's Assassin landed directly in front of her as she triggered the Model W. The pulse laser scoured armor from the left leg, the last undamaged location on the 'Mech, as she braced herself for his return fire.

The remaining Martell in his right arm missed, but both the Hovertec and the 400P mauled the already exposed structure in her chest. Amazingly, they failed to do any critical damage, but Samba was now in just as bad a shape as the Assassin.

She struck out with her right arm, trying to cave in its chest, but ended up swinging wildly. The Assassin twisted to the side, unable to kick with it's damaged hip, and having already fired the Martell in its remaining arm he couldn't effectively physically attack her.

-

Sigil fired the Lox Lifters again, frantic to get away. Both of their 'Mechs were on the verge of utter destruction. He dropped down behind the ferrocrete barrier trying to break contact.

As he looked up, Samba came sailing over the same barrier, fire screaming once more from its legs.

This was it. This was the end. He dropped the reticle over her, and fired just as he saw the emerald green pulse laser reaching out towards him.

The Martel melted the last of the armor from the Vindicator's right leg, as the Magna 400P did the same to the left. SRM's exploded across its right torso, but it just kept coming.

Her Model W wiped the armor clean from his right arm causing another alarm. "Right Arm Armor: 0%." If you didn't count the head, there was barely a half ton of armor left on his entire 'Mech!

He backpedaled as she continued to close on him. His weapons recycled at the same time as hers, and they continued to rain fire on each other. Her CeresArms Model W blew away his right arm, and the Martell mounted there.

But the Hovertec Quad and Magna 400P more than avenged it. A pair of short ranged missiles, followed by a burst of laser fire cored straight through the Vindicator.

As the Vindicator hit the ground, it shattered like glass into a thousand metallic pieces, the wreckage scattered all about the feet of Sigil's Assassin, wreathing it in smoke.

He limped out of the destruction, both arms destroyed, hip destroyed, jump jets damaged. It was barely holding together.

Medical vehicles raced at flank speed towards the wreckage of the Vindicator, as Sigil suddenly became conscious of the crowd once again. They were going nuts.

-

He visited her in in the hospital three days later. He quietly pulled the doctor aside, and said he'd cover all of her medical bills.

She was lying in bed when he walked in. Both her right arm and leg were in casts, and her body was heavily bandaged. She turned to look at him, her emerald eyes piercing him, her face unreadable.

"Uh… Hey Virote. You're looking a little… um… rough. I was thinking. You know, after you're recovered and all. Maybe you'd be interested in joining the 69th? We've got a couple spare 'Mechs that need a good pilot."

He looked at her, feeling increasingly awkward. Then, slowly, a smile appeared on her almond shaped face. "Actually, I was thinking I'd like to give that Assassin a go."

-

Chapter 5

Galatea  
3044  
Lyran Commonwealth

Sigil hadn't been in the Colonel's office since they'd returned to Galatea. It wasn't exactly a place of fond memories. This time, however, acting Captain Jochen Weddle was sitting behind the severe gunmetal desk. The Colonel was still away tending to personal business.

"Nice work refitting my Thunderbolt 5SE. The Eridani Light Horse had a great idea when they added the Chilton 420 jump jets. Upgrading the weapons systems and heat sinks to newtech was gravy. I took it out on the proving grounds earlier. It's got almost as much firepower as the Colonel's Battlemaster, only its 20 tons lighter and can jump. It's a potent raider. Everything checked out fine. If you've got one redeeming quality, it's your engineering."

Then Weddle turned serious. "The Colonel's due back next month, so I was reviewing the unit's books to make sure everything was in order. When I was reconciling the invoices related to the purchase of my T-bolt, I noticed a number of additional expenses."

Sigil shifted nervously in his seat, sitting up straight. He couldn't hide the alarm from his eyes.

Weddle shook his head, reading off his datapad. "506,675 to Jax Scrap Yards. 600,000 in assorted engine and gyro parts."

He looked back up. "Come on Sig. 80,000 in myomer? Another 20,000 on actuators? 90,000 on a Magna 400P medium pulse laser?"

He chucked the pad onto his desk in disgust. It skid across the surface, coming to rest accusingly in front of Sigil.

Weddle leaned forward. "And I'm sure you copped whatever else you needed for that Assassin from the unit stockpiles."

Weddle was starting to look pissed. Sigil wondered if it was maybe the office, or maybe the desk. Whatever it was, it seemed to make its occupant awfully strict.

Sigil glanced down at the datapad. "I can explain…"

Weddle shut him up with a feral look. "Look Sig, I don't really care what kind of imbecile you are, or what ridiculous explanation your twisted mind is about to concoct! There's no escaping the simple fact that you charged over a million C-bills worth of hardware without authorization from anyone, except for you own sorry ass self."

Weddle ground his teeth, anger flaring in his eyes as he bellowed. "And you did it While I was in command of the unit! Under my nose! On my watch! Kerensky, Sigil!

Do you have any idea what kind of position you just put me in! Can you imagine what the Colonel would do if he found out!"

Weddle's fists slammed down against the metal desk, the hollow booming sound reverberating off the sparse walls. "Huh!? Can you!? Answer me that, Sigil!"

Weddle got up from his chair. He came around to the front of the desk, within about a foot of Sigil, and leaned back against it.

His voice returned to normal, although his anger was still obvious. "We both know exactly what the Colonel would do. Lucky for you, however, he isn't here. So, I suppose you'll live at least long enough to see one more battle."

Weddle paused pressing his palms against his eyes, then, running his fingers down his face as he took a deep breath. "I'm not even going to get into the whole fighting in arena thing. Although, I will say this: Fighting in the arena does not constitute a "live fire exercise." Kerensky, Sig! What? Thievery wasn't enough; you had to be a liar too?"

Weddle looked resigned as he shook his head regretfully. "What would your brother have thought of a stunt like this? Sure, he loved to bend the rules now and then, but he always respected them, Sigil."

He rubbed his head wearily, massaging his temples. "I've thought about what to do concerning this situation for a long time. Obviously, you find the Assassin irresistible. Fine. I'm assigning you to pilot the Assassin, you can just forget about your former Clint. I'm tempted to put it on the auction block to cover all your unauthorized expenditures. But I'll let the Colonel make that decision."

Sigil stuttered and choked, his eyes blinking rapidly as he searched for his voice. Weddle leaned down, shoving his face into Sigil's. "I will be filing a detailed report  
concerning this for the Colonel to review upon his return. I will, however, at least tell him I recommended a new reconnaissance 'Mech for the unit, one that can act as a spotter for LRMs. You are DISMISSED! Now GET OUT! "

Spittle starting flying into Sigil's face. "And so help me Kerensky, if you do so much as use an extra piece of toilet paper without my personal authorization I'll throw you out of this unit so fast, you won't even need a JumpShip to get your miserable ass home!"

Once again, Sigil fled from that office.

-

Rebuilding the Assassin was quickly getting old. Sigil looked up at it and sighed. Both arms gone, numerous jump jet exhaust ports damaged, and the hip shattered again. He shook his head and turned as he heard someone approaching.

Virote Isamu was grinning. "You might have gotten lucky and dropped my Vindicator, but at least I did a job on your Assassin. I trashed it nice and proper. Twice." She smirked.

Sigil frowned as he looked at her. She was dressed in the royal blue and gold of the 69th Expeditionary Force. "Yeah. You know how hard it is to find replacement limbs for it? The production line was destroyed way back in 2835. I had to order the arms and the new hip actuator straight from Hellespont 'Mech Works on Sian. At least Captain Weddle opened up the unit's checkbook, otherwise this thing would be headed back to the scrap yard where I found it."

Virote giggled. "Good luck. I'm taking one of the new 5R Archers out for a live fire. I'd ask if you want to join, but looks like you've got your work cut out for you." She sauntered off. "Don't have too much fun without me."

Sigil looked across the 'Mech bay at his Clint, still hanging from chains. He wondered for the thousandth time if he would ever see it repaired. Probably not. Ok, maybe it had a little something to do with the 1.5 million he'd spent on the Assassin without any authorization. Water under the bridge now.

He called out to her. "Hey, Virote! You know any good engine shops?"

She stopped, turning around. Her almond shaped eyes a clear indication of her Combine heritage. "Merkel Engine Werks. They're the best, hands down." She flashed him a smile, then started climbing up towards the cockpit of the Archer.

She paused halfway up, "If you can afford them."

Sigil nodded. "Thanks. And by the way, be sure to test out those new FarFire LRM-15s. They've got the advanced Artemis IV Fire Control System. And the Captain was talking about using them indirect with a spotter as fire support too."

He turned back to the Assassin. Time to pull the engine out. Again.

-

Chapter 6

Galatea  
3044  
Lyran Commonwealth

The hovercar came to a stop in the industrial section of Galatea City. A sign reading "Merkel Engine Werks" hung on the side of a huge, expansive warehouse. Sigil hopped out and entered the nondescript door under the sign.

There was a small reception area. The entire back wall was plate glass affording a nice view of the garage behind it and the numerous 'techs at work. A long counter dominated the office. An ancient, sour faced woman looked up from the terminal on the counter.

"Can I help you?"

Sigil walked up to the desk. "I need to talk to your top engine 'tech. I've got a custom job I need done, and I want to know if you can handle it."

She latched down the intercom, "Hans Merkel to the reception desk please."

She motioned to one of two metallic chairs nearby. "Take a seat, Mr. Merkel will be you as soon as he's able."

A few minutes later, an older, steel gray man entered the room wearing a heavily stained one piece mechanics outfit. Numerous tools and hand held diagnostic equipment hung from his heavy leather harness.

Sigil stood as the man approached. "I'm Hans Merkel," the man said as he extended a huge, rough, calloused hand.

Sigil took it, and shaking it introduced himself. "I'm Sigil, 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force, based here on Galatea. I'm looking for some custom work on my Assassin's Vox 280. Heard you guys were the best on planet."

Hans nodded, "Follow me to my office, and don't mind the mess."

His office looked like a scrap yard. Various unidentifiable components were piled haphazardly on the shelves and in small heaps on the ferrocrete floor. His desk was piled high with at least dozen datapads. Wiring diagrams, flow charts, and blueprints hung crookedly along the walls.

However, it was an old picture that caught Sigil's attention. It was an obviously younger Hans Merkel standing next to a shining 95-ton Banshee. Sigil picked it up, blowing off the dust for a closer look.

Sigil recognized the red fist and gold crown insignia of the 2nd Donegal Guards instantly. Merkel's uniform also sported the Tharkan Spear Point. He'd made Senior Sergeant Major, the highest no-commissioned rank in the LCAF. He let out a low whistle as he put the picture back down.

Merkel's face split in a grin. "That's right. 25 years with the 2nd Donegal before I opened up this little hobby shop. Served in the Third Succession War when the Dracs attacked the Commonwealth. My team and I pioneered the -3S refit for the Banshee. Pulled out the original GM 380, adapted a Pitban 285, and hung more weapons off that chassis then you could imagine."

He chuckled. "The Dracs never knew what hit 'em. And let me tell you, they learned some respect for Banshee after that. We turned it into a proper assault 'mech. One

of the best in my opinion, but then again, I might be a little biased. Anyway, what can I help you with?"

"Well," Sigil began, "I need to shave some weight off a Vox 280. I managed to get my hands on a few tons of the crystalline polymer radiation shielding being used in the new Extralight engines. I'm looking for someone who can pull off the outer tungsten carbide shielding and replace it with the new polymer stuff. The regenerative cooling system also needs to be rebuilt using all light weight radiators. I figure that ought to save somewhere in the neighborhood of four tons."

Merkel furrowed his brow as he stroked his beard. Sigil felt as though he was looking right past him. Minutes passed in silence, until finally Merkel's eyes focused back on him.  
"Edasich Motors makes a 280 XL for the new -5S Archer. Why not use one of them?" Sigil scowled. "For one, I'd have to rebuild the entire drive train so the torque  
wouldn't overstress the limbs. My Assassin only weighs half as much as an Archer. Second, that engine lists for over 5 million C-bills, given that it's even possible to get my hands on one. And last, I don't want that kinda bulk in my 'Mechs torsos. If I drop a side in combat, I'm a sitting duck on the battlefield."

Merkel nodded. "All of that is true. However, if I agree to attempt to build this prototype, I can't provide any guarantees whatsoever as to its performance. There are just too many unknowns. I don't have any solid data on the characteristics of that crystalline polymer shielding. Hell, I don't even know if I can mold it into the necessary shape to even shield that Vox! I might end up trashing the entire engine and you'll be out everything you put into this little project. Do you understand me?"

Sigil scratched his cheek nodding. "Yea, I understand you, and I'm not asking for any guarantees. Just your best work. Look, when I bought that engine, it was practically scrap. I rebuilt all the shielding myself. And then to top it off, I modified the cooling system by using all radiators from the new Freezers. Not only that, I only put in seven of them. I shaved about 1.5 tons off it just by doing that. But that's just not enough. I need more."

Merkel's chair protested loudly as he leaned forward. "What are you up to, boy? What aren't you tellin' me? You could buy a Marauder for the kinda money I bet you're willing to sink into this thing."  
Merkel shook his head. "I'm not sure I want to get involved in this fool's errand." Sigil scoffed. "I heard you were the best. What? Lost your edge old man? Rent me  
your facilities and I'll do it myself since you can't handle the challenge."

Hans Merkel was out of his chair in a flash, his bulky form inches from Sigil's face.

"I was engineering 'Mechs while you were still a just a gleam in your mothers eye, pup! Rebuilding engines when you were still in diapers, boy! I have half a mind to pop you one right in the kisser and teach you the respect for your elders that your mother obviously forgot too!"

The anger was evident in his face as he sat back down. "You provide all the materials, and half a million C-bills down. Eight weeks, pup, and I'll give you your engine. Miranda will handle the details, now get outta here before I change my mind and give you a nice little shiner to remember your trip by."

- ‐- ‐- ‐

As good as his word, Hans Merkel called eight weeks later. Sigil didn't even bother to try to hide his excitement as he entered the Merkel Engine Werks facility.

He had just sat down in the small waiting area when Merkel entered waving to him to follow.

"It's done." Merkel was beaming. "One helluva piece of work if I say so myself. Twelve tons of beautiful custom engine engineering, boy. I've named in the Merkel  
280L. And she's a beauty."

Sigil followed him through the cavernous warehouse, past a half dozen fusion power plants undergoing various modifications before Merkel came to stop near the back.

Sigil squinted as he looked on the newly rebuilt engine. He barely recognized it. It was definitely larger, the lightweight radiation shielding creating significant bulk. But what really puzzled him were all the new gleaming metallic coolant lines spidering across the entire power plant.

Merkel began explaining. "The radiation shielding you got lived up to its billing, but with one nasty little surprise. While it blocks the radiation, its thermal properties are way different from the original tungsten carbon carbide. This baby throws off way more heat, at least 25% more than the original."

Merkel walked over to his engine, running his thick hand lovingly along one of the heavy coolant lines. "I had to completely overhaul the entire cooling system from the ground up, even put in a larger turbine for the regenerative cooling system. Reclaiming all that extra heat pushes the output on this baby closer to a Vlar 300. Even then I had to increase the size of the lines, boost the coolant pressure, and put in all new circulation pumps to drive enough nitrogen fast enough to keep the heat under control."

He patted one of the coolant tubes. "Once all that heat is collected, it hits the heat pumps then the radiators and gets dumped."

Merkel turned to look at Sigil. "One thing you should know. The entire cooling system is driven by a central mechanical pump. There was just too much heat to deal with. I couldn't use the myomer-wrapped flexible tubing I would have liked too. The hotter it gets, the weaker the myomer contracts, resulting in a loss of coolant pressure which reduces the overall cooling capacity, which can, in turn, create a nasty little feedback loop. And with all the internal heat this baby generates, I just couldn't make it work."

Merkel walked around behind the engine. "The central coolant pump is here, in the rear of the engine. I gave it as much protection as I could, but it's still vulnerable. If  
it fails, there is a smaller secondary pump that will take over, but you'll start cooking  
and looking for safe place to shutdown."

He turned giving Sigil a triumphant look. "This is a one-of-a-kind. You'll be like a ****** jackrabbit out there. Of course, it'll be a bitch to maintain. Come here and let me show you what you need to know…"

- ‐-


	5. Book 5 - Talisker

Chapter 1

Thorin  
3045  
Lyran Commonwealth

Colonel Jason Henley disembarked from the Trout, a civilian Monarch class DropShip, onto the surface of Thorin.

It simply felt too awkward to dress in civilian clothes, so he had resigned himself to wearing his dress uniform. That, and the fact he didn't actually own any normal clothes, anyway.

His heels clicked across the ferrocrete landing pad as he made his way towards the bustling passenger terminal of the StarPort in Ecol City, the capital of Thorin.

He had heard that Thorin's climate was very similar to that of Terra itself. Whether true or not, there was not doubt it was a very comfortable place. The sun shone brightly down as a warm breeze caressed his face. The air smelled unusually clean for a StarPort, and the facility itself was obviously well maintained.

He'd already made arrangements for his accommodations not far from the Flight Academy of Thorin where he would be meeting Kitten. It took him only a few minutes to navigate the passenger terminal, pass through planetary customs, and then he was in a private taxi speeding towards The Redbud, his hotel.

As they departed Ecol City proper, Henley noticed a large expanse of crumbling granite buildings. The surrounding forest had long been encroaching upon the ruins, large copses of trees and vines obscuring much of the view.

"What are those ruins?" he inquired of the driver.

"It was the Hegemony Library. The largest library in existence during the time of Star League." The driver sighed. "Who knows what secrets were lost when it was destroyed by the 2nd Amaris Dragoons during the Civil War some three hundred years ago. Thorin used to be one of the crown jewels of the old Terran Hegemony."

The driver paused, spitting out of the window. "The Ursurper also destroyed the University of Thorin, too. Can't hardly see where it used to be now, the forest has grown up around it so bad. It was the top business school in the entire Hegemony. Specialized in economics."

"Used to have an orbital shipyard too. Krester's Ship Construction. Turned out DropShips and WarShips for the SLDF. Big ones, too. Behemoths, Mamomoths, even Texas class battleships."

The driver continued his historical commentary. "Now, the only thing left standing from the glory days is the Star League Fortress Laiacona. Duke Sakuma uses it now. The planetary garrison is stationed there."

-

Colonel Jason Henley quickly got settled in his suite at The Redbud. He traveled light, another habit from his tour with the Lyran Guard that seemed to have become second nature. He ate a simple meal at the hotel restaurant and settled in for the night early to help make the adjustment to local time.

The next morning, he was in a rented hovercar heading towards the Flight Academy.

The campus was festooned with gray and red, the academy's colors. Interspersed among the academy's flags was the familiar mailed fist of the Lyran Commonwealth. It was another stunning day. A crystal blue sky, a comfortable breeze, and acres of manicured, lush grass. Henley took in a deep breathe of air, savoring the natural smells of the immaculately landscaped grounds.

The graduation ceremony was to take place on the parade grounds. Temporary bleachers had been set up facing a large platform with a podium. It was slowly filling up with an assortment of people, mostly civilian, but quite a few active service military as well. The Skye Rangers, Lyran Guard, and Lyran Regulars were all represented. It was, after all, primarily a training academy for the Lyran Commonwealth Armed Forces.

The uniform that caught his eye, however, was not a Lyran one. It was navy blue with gold banding, of an older, almost naval style. But, really, it was the insignia he found most curious. The iconic sword of the Federated Suns was superimposed on the Lyran fist.

He found himself approaching the man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties. The man turned as Henley drew close, pulling off his white dress glove, and sticking a friendly hand forward.

"I'm Kommandant Richard Usher. Fourth Federated Commonwealth Regimental Combat Team."

Henley shook his hand. "Colonel Jason Henley, Commanding Officer 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force."

Usher grinned. "So you're here on business. Recruiting trip? I'm here meeting a new DropShip crew."

Henley nodded. "I sent our former VTOL pilot here to train for AeroSpace combat. I wanted to see her graduate. It was always her dream to pilot an AeroSpace fighter."

He paused then continued. "Fourth FedCom RCT? High command must be making some real progress on integrating. They were just coming online in '3039."

Usher nodded. "Welcome to the future, Colonel. One new big happy family."

-

Rachael "Kitten" Sachs was in disbelief. She'd always dreamed of piloting an AeroSpace fighter. Everyone she knew, knew it. And now, after her year at the Flight Academy, she had her wings. Unbelievable.

She looked across the table at the man who had made it happen. She'd always guessed that Dawg would be the one. He was independently wealthy, plus, she was the one who ferried him and his men to and fro the battlefield. And, they had also entertained a couple of brief romances.

She shook her head as she smiled at the Colonel, pushing Dawg out of her mind. "I can't thank you enough, Colonel. You know," she giggled, "I feel like Cinderella. Suddenly, all of my dreams came true!"

"You know what I like to do sometimes?" she asked blushing.

"When I'm in the upper atmosphere, I'll barrel roll, and look up to look down on the surface of Thorin. You wouldn't believe how beautiful she is! All emeralds and sapphire blue, with wisps of milky opal clouds. And the ice caps! Like blazing diamonds reflecting the sun and throwing it back out in a thousand different hues!"

She closed her eyes, remembering the first time she saw the breathtaking sight. And the first time she caught the sun rising over the planetary horizon. It transported her to another place.

You could practically hear Kitten purring across the table. Henley tried to imagine what she must be feeling, but he struggled to find a similar experience. Maybe the first time his father let him pilot Johnny, the AgroMech that helped maintain the family estate.

She opened her eyes, gazing directly into the Colonel's.

Henley was the first to speak. "Speaking of dreams," he slid a thick envelope across the table to her. "Go ahead, open it."

Kitten took the envelope, unwinding the closure and pulling out a thin set of official looking papers emblazoned with holographics. Her eyes quickly scanned them, growing wider by the second, her mouth slowly dropping open.

She gushed, "Jason! You can't mean it! Are you sure!?" Her smile was worth every scrap of the almost three million C-bills it had cost him.

"My own Corsair!" Matched pairs of Exostar heavy, medium, and light lasers armed the 50-ton AeroSpace fighter. Thirteen and half tons of armor protected it, and it was well known for it's excellent handling both in and outside of the atmosphere.  
A GM 200 fusion engine and five tons of fuel powered it. It had also recently been designated as the medium AeroSpace fighter for the Federated Commonwealth Armed Services, beating out the Lucifer, the favored model of the Federated Suns.

The Colonel knew all of this because he had done his research before buying it. With no ammunition dependency, it could also stay on station, and in combat if necessary, for extended amounts of time without losing any of its effectiveness. A well respected and highly sought after model. And this one was fresh off the assembly lines of Wangker AeroSpace on Axton.

The Colonel gave a genuine smile. "You'll also find a ticket to Clipperton, in the Free Worlds League, in there. I want you to go meet up with Captain Salt and Captain McMillian. They are handling the refitting of our new Union class DropShip and Scout class JumpShip. Your Corsair is in the small craft bay of the Scout."

"You've also been promoted to 1st Leutnant. We're a reinforced company now. I have some personal business to attend to, then we will all reconvene on Galatea."

One of Kitten's long legs brushed against his calf under the table. And, it kept rising as she finished her wine, her eyes on him from over the tip of the crystal flute.

"Sounds like we've got some serious celebrating to do, Colonel." She giggled as she continued fondling him under the table.

-

The Colonel's eyes snapped open like clockwork at 0500 the next morning. He could feel the warmth of Kitten's body lying next to him in bed. He closed his eyes, remembering the events of hours earlier, his face turning a bright red as the images of them together filled his mind.

He shook his head quickly opening his eyes again as he slipped out from underneath the sheets. In the dim light, he could see his dress uniform scattered haphazardly about the hotel room, lying crumpled with blatant disregard among the collection of now empty champagne bottles. The entire room was trashed, chairs fallen or shoved out of the way, the table strangely canted. Even the curtains dangled askew from their rods, letting the pre-dawn light filter onto the richly carpeted floor.

He walked over to the windows, looking out as Ecol City slowly came back to life. He was shocked at himself. At how easily he had let his ironclad self-control slip away. At how easily he had cast aside his uniform without a second thought. At how easily he had let his emotions ride rough shod over his tightly ordered rational mind.

He heard Kitten stirring behind him, praying to himself she'd just fall back asleep as he stood frozen, silhouetted by the windows.

A sleepy voice floated across the room. "Jason? Shhh. Don't say anything. Just come back to bed, it's still early."

And just like that, he did it all over again. Simply ignored who he was, who she was, his responsibilities, his duties, his ethics, his morals. They all just suddenly seemed so utterly unimportant. So trivial and meaningless.

And there he was, back in her bed, back in her arms. Again.

-

A few hours later, dawn finally arrived, sending golden beams of light streaming through the window. Colonel Jason Henley lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Kitten was sleeping again, her body still twined around his. If he moved, she would almost certainly awaken.

He felt like another person. As if he'd left his body, and someone else had come in to take it over. His closed his eyes, letting his imagination run wild, filling his mind with images of some other life entirely. Yet it was his life, it was he who was in it. Yet it was completely unrecognizable to him.

They were at his parent's estate back on Whittington. His parents were older, but looking happy and content. Laugh lines crossed their faces, and he watched as a young boy rushed towards his father, who picked him up, swinging him around as he laughed. A slightly older girl, her face, fingers, and dress all stained with cherry juice came towards him with a huge smile offering him a handful of fruit.

Kitten was there, chatting with his mother, as she halfheartedly chastised the little girl for getting her clothes dirty. The little girl just giggled and ran back into the orchard. Then Kitten came up to him, her face beaming, kissing him with casual ease, her fingers slipping between his as they turned to look out over the thriving family orchard.

He was going crazy. He forced his eyes open. That was crazy. Yet he could sense it's possibilities. The rational side of his mind kicked in. When the 69th was formed, he'd given himself a 50% controlling interest it. Weddle, Hamilton, Kitten, Dawg, and even Sigil, each had a 10% stake in the unit. They were the founding members.

The truth was, if he liquidated the unit's assets, every one of them would be wealthy enough to do whatever they wanted for the rest of their lives. Simple as that.

And ironically, Whittington was his next stop before returning to Galatea.

Thank Kerensky he'd already made arrangements for Kitten to travel to Clipperton.

-

Chapter 2

Whittington  
3045  
Lyran Commonwealth

He hadn't been home to Whittington, in what, three, four years now? The place never changed though, did it? The Riven Estate had been in the hands of his family for generations, originally granted in 2855 by Archon Elizabeth Steiner herself.

Portraits of all the Steiner Archons beginning with Elizabeth straight though to Melissa hung on the wall of the Great Hall. His family had always been strong, loyal supporters of the Great House. They also had a tradition of military service. The eldest son always served in the 3rd Lyran Guards. His grandfather, his father, and he himself had all done their time with the Guard.

As he opened the huge ancient double wooden doors to the Great Hall, his father came out to greet him. "Jason!" He wasted no time wrapping him in a warm and welcoming embrace. His father's eyes shown with obvious pride.

"Dad! It's so great to see you! I can't believe how long it's been. You look great!" And he did. A bit more gray, a few more worry lines around the eyes, but he still had that trademark sharp precision to his every movement. That was one thing he'd definitely learned from his father.

"Come join me in the study. I've got a excellent bottle of scotch from Glengarry I've been looking for an excuse to open."

Soon they were both settled in his father's richly upholstered study, sipping good scotch from crystal highballs. His father opened his humidor, pulling out a pair of cigars, handing one to Jason. Another habit he'd learned from his father. The enjoyment of a fine cigar.

His father filled him in on the business of the estate and planetary politics and the ongoing rivalries between Whittington nobility. Eventually the conversation wound its way to speculation about the ascension of Victor Steiner-Davion and the creation of the Federated Commonwealth.

He father started. "Don't get me wrong, I love the Archon, but did she really have to go falling in love with The Fox? How many trillions of eligible Lyran men are in the Commonwealth, and she has to marry a guy from the Federated Suns?"

Jason chuckled. "He's not just some guy, Dad. He's the First Prince of the Federated Suns! And they've got five kids together now. So I think it's a little late in the game to be complaining! That ship sailed long ago. The real question is, when will Victor take the throne and create the Federated Commonwealth? When I was on Thorin, I met a Kommandant from one of the FedCom Regimental Combat Teams. It's already started happening, really."

His father shook his head. "I just don't get it. What, one realm isn't good enough? Gotta have two?" He laughed as he refilled their highballs. "Oh, and that reminds me. Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto, LIC, arrived about a week ago. He wants to see you."

Henley looked at his father questioningly.

His father leaned back, taking a long pull off his cigar. "Success breed opportunity, son. And you have been successful. I suspect he'll have an interesting offer for you."

He sent a perfect smoke ring spiraling toward the ceiling, then added, "He and I go way back."

-

Colonel Jason Henley was sitting his father's study when Leutnant Colonel Paul Zardetto entered. As the ranking officer, as well as the host, Henley motioned for him to take a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs.

"Care for drink, Lt. Colonel? My father and I opened a bottle of Glengarry Scotch last night."

Nodding, Zardetto accepted. "Thank you, Colonel. I believe it's in the Ares Conventions somewhere. It's a war crime to let a good Scotch go to waste!" He laughed as he took the first sip, nodding in appreciation.

"My compliments to your father. This is an excellent scotch. I appreciate the opportunity."

Henley responded. "He said you arrived some time ago, and were waiting to see me?"

Zardetto nodded once again, then turned serious. "Your family's loyalty to the Archon is well known. I wish the same could be said for all the citizens of the Lyran Commonwealth. The impending unification of the Commonwealth with the Federated Suns has some Lyrans questioning the Archon's judgment. There are elements that are working actively against her wishes. It is concerning those elements that I wish to speak to you."

He paused, taking another sip of scotch.

Henley's face revealed nothing, but his mind was spinning. Politics. One of the reasons he'd chosen to go mercenary was so he could leave the politics to someone else. It had always struck him as distasteful. He didn't envy his father's position on Whittington's ruling body in the least. In fact, he dreaded the day when his father stepped down, and he, as his eldest son, would be expected to take his seat on the planetary council. There would be a cruel reconciling on that day.

"When I was on Thorin, I meet a Kommandant serving in the Fourth FedCom RCT. He seemed quite positive about the whole thing."

Zardetto continued. "Don't get me wrong. Most people are. The benefits of joining two Great Houses together far outweigh the cost. But the recent creation of the Free Rasalhague Republic has once again emboldened the Free Skye movement. Some people believe if the FRR can exist, the reestablishment of the Federation of Skye stands a chance as well."

Henley indicated for Zardetto to continue.

"Most disturbingly, however, is a recent series of lightning fast raids within Lyran space. Well equipped, well organized, and using vintage Star League 'Mechs. LIC believes the raids are too quick to be coming from outside the House, and they suspect an unknown base of operations, likely somewhere within the Isle of Skye."

Zardetto finished his scotch, and looked at Henley meaningfully.

"I'm sure you recall the First Skye Rebellion, back in '34, and the settlement Duke Ryan Steiner arranged between the Free Skye movement and the AFFS. However, you may not have heard about the Free Skye attack on a ComStar facility just a few years ago. And I'm almost positive you don't know about the ComGuard forces now stationed at HyperPulse Generators throughout the Isle. Duke Ryan Steiner is also married to Morasha Kelswa, the Duchess of Tamar. An ambitious man, no doubt."

Henley moved to refill the Lt. Colonel's glass, listening.

"LIC doesn't want to use a Lyran unit since Duke Ryan Steiner may be involved, and given the sensitivities of the region, using one of the new FedCom units is definitely out of the question. And, we don't want the AFFS to become involved and have repeat of what happened in '34. That's where you come in. LIC wants you to travel to the region, locate the hidden base of operations, and end the attacks. Obviously, if possible they also want to know who's behind it."

Zardetto took a long sip of scotch. "Six months, 9.5 million C-bills, 25% battle loss compensation, exchange rights, and your looking at your liaison officer should you choose to accept. LIC will provide detailed star maps with potential locations. The details, and my contact information are all right here."

Zardetto handed Henley a small datapad, as he drained his glass. "I look forward to hearing from you, Colonel."

-

His father came in shortly after the Lt. Colonel had left. He poured himself a tumbler of the Glengarry, taking the recently vacated seat.

"You've never been one for politics, I know, Jason. But the harsh reality is that war is political by its very nature. You can't escape it, son. You can choose to fight for whoever is paying top dollar at any given moment, but make no mistake about it. It's the politicians dictating the targets, and commanding the generals."

His father took a long sip, continuinge. "And sooner or later, you're going to have to ask yourself if you're willing to turn your guns on your own people for the sake of a paycheck."

Jason looked out of the huge polarized bay windows that dominated one wall of the study. He could see the fields of grain gently waving to and fro in the wind, making the perfect backdrop for the family's lush fruits orchards.

He'd learned to pilot a 'Mech in those fields. An ancient AgroMech he'd nicknamed "Johnny" after an ancient terran story of a man who traveled around the country planting apple trees. He'd dreamed of traveling for as long as could remember.

Jason finished his scotch with a grimace. "Isn't that just exactly what Lt. Colonel Zardetto is asking me to do? Gun down citizens of the Lyran Commonwealth? Do the dirty work for the LIC."

Jason turned his gaze back onto his father, his empty highball clanging violently as he slammed it down onto the table. "Looks like it turns out I am willing to kill my fellow citizens for a fistful of C-bills after all."

He got up quickly, leaving his father alone in the study.

-

Henley climbed into the cockpit of his old AgroMech. Even after all these years it still felt familiar. With a roar, the 140 internal combustion engine came to life, belching out thick clouds of black smoke. The smell of diesel and dust filled his nostrils as he piloted the 35-ton IndustrialMech out of the shed.

Moments later he was trotting down the hard packed dirt pathways of his family's extensive holdings. Row after row of neatly planted apple, plum, peach, and cherry trees spread out before him on either side. Johnny was equipped with a rotary saw in one hand, and a gripper claw in the other. It was used primarily for pruning the fruit trees, and Henley fell to the task with barely a thought.

Pruning the fruit trees had always given his mind time to wander free, the monotonous work perfect for letting the mind process things in the background. When he was younger, of course, the orchard had hidden lances full of Combine 'Mechs, and he had laid waste to untold regiments worth of them.

But now his mind wandered onto different, much more serious topics. Like his father's assertion that war was simply an extension of politics.

Why did he fight, and what for? For a fleeting moment he saw Colonel Sarah Lindon's face in his mind's eye, recalling their conversation in route to Rasalhague. They had talked about it, and he could see she was asking the same questions as he was right now.

He had spun some tale about the return of the Golden Age of the Star League. But come on, had such a time even really existed? It was practically a fairy tale at this point. All of mankind united under the same banner, living in peace and prosperity. Advances in technology making everyone's existence easier, healthier, and extending the length of their bliss-filled lives.

He grabbed up a bundle of pruned branches in Johnny's gripper claw, piling them neatly along the roadway, moving automatically to the next tree. Actually, whoever was maintaining the place was doing a pretty damn good job, but he found too much peace in the mindless work to stop on account of it. Though he would tell his father and make sure, whoever it was, was being properly compensated.

The Golden Age. It hadn't really even existed. First, there had been the bloody Reunification War, followed by the three so-called "Hidden Wars." A blunt assessment of the years of the Star League revealed only war after war. And it had continued that way right on through the present.

So what did that really leave to fight for? Since the Kearny-Fuschida drive had been first built in 2107, mankind had been at war with itself. Even further back than that the same held true, the only difference being it was limited to Terra itself.

And it wasn't suddenly going to change now.

No, in the end, you fought for the people around you. That, perhaps, was the ultimate truth of it all. It didn't even really matter who you were fighting for, or even why you were fighting. You fought because your friends were fighting.

You fought because that is what you were, a warrior.

And Lt. Colonel Zardetto's offer was a good one. He'd take it.

-

Chapter 3

Clipperton  
3045  
Free Worlds League

The Free Worlds League. Capt. Ernie McMillian smiled as he leaned back, looking across the table at Varukka Salt. Almost a dozen empty steins littered the table, and a haze of smoke hung in the bar.

It was an easy place to be. Money talked, everything else walked. And with the orbital shipyards, one of only a tiny handful that had managed to survive the devastation of the Succession Wars, it served as a nexus for JumpShips and DropShips from across the known universe.

Which also meant you could find just about anything for sale here. It was a rare ship captain, indeed, that made a jump without his cargo hold filled with something.

There was a brutal honesty to it. Not really all together much different from the mercenary mindset. House Marik were capitalists, in the true sense of the word. Just like the Lyrans were industrialists.

He looked over a Capt. Salt. The Capelleans. There was a tough nut to crack. He knew she had served in one of the Warrior Houses. But who really knew what went on inside of their compounds?

She was dressed as she always was. Rust colored skin-tight leather bodysuit, with a stunstick hanging from her hip. Knock out gorgeous, literally. And then there was that night back on Rasalhague. When he'd seen her torturing Sigil.

He shuddered involuntarily as her eyes fell across him.

"Looks like your man is late, McMillian." She gave him a deadpan look.

McMillian waved it off, taking another long pull from his latest stein. "What, Salt? Relax, enjoy yourself. It's all part of the job. Remember, this is the guy your gonna have to dock with every time you take a jump." He gave an evil grin.

"I know. And he's late. Not an admirable trait in a JumpShip captain."

An older gruff, gravelly voice interrupted her. "I prefer to think of it as just in time." Winking at her, he took a chair at their table, setting his ice filed tumbler on the table.

He nodded at Capt. McMillian. "Ernie! In the flesh and blood. I half wondered if this whole thing was a setup, but I couldn't bring myself to pass up a free ticket to Clipperton. So how many pay rolls are you on?" He gave a rocking laugh as he finished off his tumbler.

He thumbed his hand at Capt. Salt. "Whose the eye candy?"

Salt narrowed her eyes, and with a sudden snap of her wrist sent her half filled stein flying towards the new arrival.

Garret Forrester just barely managed to dodge the incoming projectile, the stein deflecting off the wide brow of his cowboy hat. "Whoa! Someone's got a tempter! Easy, doll, I didn't mean any offense." His spread his hands out innocently.

McMillian laughed. "Garret, meet Captain Varukka Salt. She pilots the Snowmane, a Union class. She's the one you'll be docking with."

He lifted his hat, sweeping it down low. "Pleased to meet you, Capt. Salt. I'm Garret Forrester. Me and Ernie here, we've got some history." He cracked a grin, as he placed his hat next to him on the table.

Forester turned questioningly to McMillian. "I'm sure you didn't jump me out here just to reminiscent about old times, Ernie. What's the deal?"

"I've got a Scout parked at the Irian orbital shipyards here. She's getting a new jump sail and her annual. What I don't have for her is a crew. Thought of you."

Forester stroked his beard absently. "Any why would you think of an old smuggler like me? What kind of runs are we talkin' here Ernie. Give it to me straight."

McMillian nodded. Salt's eyes were fixed on Forrester's face. She jumped in.

"Hostile unit insertions from pirate JumpPoints. AeroSpace combat. Hot Docking." She paused. "Might even need to make a Jump before we're fully docked while taking fire."

Forrester met Salt's gaze. "Are you being serious!?"

"Dead serious, Garett." Salt continued fixing him with her steely gaze.

Forester pushed his seat back. "I need another drink. Be right back."

McMillian shook his head. "Ease up would you? He's a good guy. Dependable, knows how to handle himself in a tight spot."

Salt regarded him coolly.

Forester returned with a trio of tumblers. "Davion PPCs. Two shots Everclear, two shots Tequila. The Cappellan March variant, as a salute to the good Captain, here." He slid one in front of each of them.

Taking a drink, he looked at both of them. "So who's running the show here?"

McMillian responded. "69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. It's a Reinforced company based on Galatea. Commanded by Colonel Jason Henley, former 3rd Lyran. A pair of plantaries and an objective raid under the belt. We're in rest and refit, between contracts."

Forester began stroking his beard again. "A combat unit, huh? Still, why me? You could find a thousand guys to pilot. You know combat isn't my thing. I'm a poor choice."

McMillian shook his head. "It's a Scout. We need to be able to get in system undetected. And most importantly, get back out again. When I think of pirate JumpPoints, you know I think of you."

Forester shrugged. "Combat? Sounds more like Black Ops to me, Ernie. High risk stuff." He gave McMillian a skeptical look.

McMillian grinned mischievously. "You can run 'cargo' when were between contracts."

Forester smiled crookedly. "What does a Scout hold? Maybe 450 tons of cargo. Max."

His eyes drifted over to Salt who was still staring at him. "Of course, you've got that Union too. Twelve 'Mech bays, two small craft bays, and maybe another 75 tons or so."

"You can't use Snowmane. For anything. Ever." Salt gave him a challenging look.

McMillian rolled his eyes, as Forester chuckled.

"What's your bankroll?"

McMillian waved his finger. "Not so fast. What are you offering?"

Capt. Salt leaned forward, rephrasing, "What EXACTLY are you offering?"

The remainder of the Davion PPC disappeared down Forrester's throat. "I'll pilot. No questions asked. But, I get to run cargo between contracts. No questions asked. Fifty-fifty split on cargo profits. I'll take standard pay on the books. And, my word is like Kerensky's himself when it comes to running the Scout."

He frowned at his empty glass, adding, "I'll also need two million C-bills up front and three months to put the crew together. And I want to go up to the orbital yard to look her over and have a few modifications made."

"You're asking me to take a lot on faith, Garret."

Forester shrugged. "Ernie, you called me, I didn't call you."

Salt tossed back her PPC, slamming it down on the table. "Our next stop is Galatea. If we fill the holds while we're here in the League, how much could we make?"

Forrester couldn't hide his surprise. "Depends on how much you've got to invest. All things considered, we could probably make half again easy, maybe as much as double if we can get our hands on the right stuff."

Salt gave him a long appraising look. "Let's put it to the test, then. If you double whatever we put in, you're hired. If not, well." She lovingly stroked her stunstick.

"I'm done here." Salt pushed herself up from her chair and began walking out, leaving a pair of stunned men behind her

McMillain and Forrester watched her go. And they weren't the only set of eyes that followed the striking blonde out.

McMillian waved his hand. "She can more than take care of herself, Forrester. Don't worry about it. I pity any man stupid enough to try something."

Forrester knocked his empty tumble against the table, moments later another pair of PPCs appeared on their table. Shooting it back, he looked at McMillian.

"Ok, Ernie, what's the real deal?"

McMillan laughed. "Same as the old. I provide you with adventure and enough money to pay all the debts you've accumulated by now."

McMillan grinned as he continued. "And, with enough to spare to get you into all the new trouble you can handle! And, in return, you take me where I want to go. Simple enough."

Forrester nodded. "I should warn you, I can handle a lot of trouble. What's the first run, and don't tell me you don't already have something planned."

McMillian grinned. "Ginestra, one Jump from Arcturus, with load of newtech, including 'Mechs. The rest we sell on Galatea, standard stuff, basically munitions and heavy support weapons. Of course the newtech doesn't show up on the manifest for some reason. Clerical error I'm sure. You know how hard it is to find competent help these days."

Forrester threw back another Davion PPC, probably his fourth or fifth. "Ginesta, huh? You still working for those guys?" He gritted his teeth.

McMillian looked him straight in the eye. "I've got a life sentence. Once in, there's no getting out. Except one way."

Forrester nodded, motioning for the barkeep to bring another round. "How much stuff we talkin' here?"

McMillan produced a notepad from the folds of his jacket and slid it across the table.

Forrester whistled loudly, his eyebrows rising as he scanned the list. "You've got some serious bankroll here, Ernie. A full company of 'Mechs and over 400 tons of cargo. That's a lot to hide. Not to mention all the filler. No way we can take the circuit. We'll have to take the road less traveled if you know what I mean."

McMillian nodded, finishing his drink, as Forrester continued. "We'll need the good DropShip Captain's services to ferry this amount of gear to the planet surface. You sure she's in?"

McMillian looked away. "Go look at your star charts, you worry about getting us to Ginestra, let me worry about Captain Salt."

-

Captain Varukka Salt and her chief engineer Spanner were inspecting the repurposed fighter bays of the Snowmane, their new Union class DropShip. It had been totally overhauled to accommodate a full company of mechanized infantry, including their equipment and transport. The life support system had been almost entirely replaced to handle the additional strain of 84 combat troopers.

The personnel capacity of the Union was normally closer to 30. Now, it would be over 100 at full capacity. Talk about cramped quarters, the Union wasn't exactly spacious to being with.

Spanner nodded approvingly, stroking his beard as he did so. "They do solid work here, doll. I already checked out the V250 drive. Took care of it nice and proper. Couldn't ask for much better really, unless of course I did the work me self." He grunted.

They both turned as Captain McMillan approached. "It'll be a bit tight, but we can fit all of our gear in here. With the crane, we can just swing the VTOLs right of the bay doors, and the hovercraft can go straight down the ramps. About as good as I could ask for."

Salt looked at him. "You and your men finished your zero gravity combat training, and the overhauls are basically done. When are we leaving for Galatea?"

McMillan looked down. "Soon as it's loaded. We'll be carrying a full company of 'Mechs and about 500 tons of cargo. And there's one stop before Galatea."

Spanner scowled as Salt gave Forrester in appraising look. The silence lingered uncomfortably.

"I also happened to find a bunch of Clint and Assassin parts for that boy toy of yours."

Salt looked away as Spanner looked up at her in surprise. Still she said nothing.

McMillian turned to leave. "I'll have them start loading her up as soon as you complete the initial shakedown cruise."

-

Captain Salt supervised the loading of the Snowmane personally. She was no expert but she'd been around 'Mechs long enough recognize what they were. A trio of Stingers, a Locust, and a Trebuchet were loaded first.

Next came a Phoenix Hawk. She squinted as she examined it. It carried what were presumably large lasers in both arms, instead of just in the right. A Hermes followed it. It seemed a bit smaller than she recalled, but it was hard to tell. But the Cicada was obviously heavily modified. The barrel of some kind of ballistic weapon dominated its stubby left side, instead of the typical medium laser.

A Griffin and a pair of Shadow Hawks followed in short order. Then the lumbering form of an 85-ton Stalker came clanging up the loading ramp. It looked fairly typical, if you can call any assault 'Mech typical. The sheer size and bulk of the war machine set it in a class all its own. She found it hard to imagine anyone would dare attack such a beast in something other than another assault class 'Mech. Even then, it looked suicidal if the myriad of missile tubes were any indication.

Finally, came all the Industrial 'Mechs loading crate after crate of cargo, filling the hold then loading a nearby shuttle craft which would take it the Blue Danube, their JumpShip. All said and done, she guessed the full load to be worth somewhere north of 50 million C-Bills.

It was time to go. She was so over Clipperton.

-

Chapter 4

Ginestra  
3045  
Lyran Commonwealth

Captain Daniel Forrester had plotted their course from Clipperton to Ginestra. Backwater planets and uninhabited star systems the entire way. The Blue Danube had just been refitted with a new JumpSail and gotten her annual check. Sure, it was risky. No recharging stations to speed the trip, or even basic maintenance facilities, for that matter, if something should go seriously wrong.

But there wouldn't be anyone asking questions, or any nosy custom agents to deal with either. And McMillian was real clear on that point. He wanted the entire shipment on the down low, totally off the books, no paper trail. She would be seen departing Clipperton, and not seen again until she jumped to Galatea.

Forrester knew just how serious he was when they lifted off Clipperton. The Marik customs agent had simply just signed off on the manifest. He hadn't even boarded the ship. Hadn't checked a single thing. Just signed off, and then they'd been cleared for lift off.

He didn't really want to stop and think about it too hard, or even look at too closely.

He'd met Ernie by pure chance years go on Gibson, which also happened to be in the Free Worlds League. And he was basically doing the same thing at the time. He had a Buccaneer stuffed to the gills with military hardware.

It hadn't gone smoothly for him that time. His JumpShip captain had run afoul of the local authorities who had impounded his ship, stranding Ernie on planet. He never did find out exactly why. But he just happened to be in system under contract with Gibson Federated BattleMechs delivering Martell medium lasers from Wallis for use on the Locust they made there.

Ernie had made him an offer that was just too good to refuse. He severed his contract with Gibson Federated, and took Ernie's Buccaneer to Ginestra. It had been a calculated risk, but Ernie's word had proven good, and an enormous amount of C-bills had been deposited into his account shortly after he arrived at Ginestra. All considered, it'd been the easiest money he'd ever made.

So here he was, orbiting Ginestra again, the unloading operations already underway. He had deployed the JumpSail shortly after Captain Salt had uncoupled from the Blue Danube and had begun her burn towards the planet.

Now there was nothing to do but wait.

-

Captain Salt executed a flawless landing on the ferrocrete pad. Fuel tanks, maintenance hangers and a control tower ringed the pad. It wasn't quite what she would consider a StarPort. It was too small, and too remote.

As she watched from the bridge, Industrial 'Mechs and refueling trucks were already on their way to meet them. She frowned as she noted two full squads of infantry in full battle armor riding out on hovercraft as well.

Looked like it was going to be a quick turnaround, though. Good. She didn't like being here anyway.

McMillian turned to her. "Captain Salt. If you'll open the cargo and bay doors, I'll have Snowmane unloaded as quickly as possible. I would prefer if you, and your crew, stay away from the cargo areas for the duration of the unloading operations. The cargo handlers are already on their way, so there is no need for your crew to assist. Relax. Have a drink. I expect we'll be leaving in a just a few hours."

Captain Salt's jaw tightened as she gave a curt nod, not even looking at McMillan. "Opening doors now. You're clear to begin operations."

"Thank you, Captain." McMillan turned, heading down below decks to meet the approaching work crew.

Salt didn't like it. Who the hell were these people anyway, and what was McMillan's connection to them? And that drunkard JumpShip Captain. He seemed quite familiar with Ginestra, not to mention McMillan himself.

She turned to her communications officer. "Sanchez, punch up the surveillance cameras for both the hold and the 'Mech bay. Watch their every move. I don't trust these people. Record it too. I don't care what McMillan says, I'm going down there. It's my ****** ship."

Captain Salt strode purposefully down the entrance corridor leading to the 'Mech hangar. As she approached the end, two soldiers carrying sub-machine guns in full body armor with helmets blocked her way.

"Sorry, ma'am. This area is restricted."

Without pausing, Salt whipped her stunstick from its hip sling, driving it into the first soldier's stomach, triggering a powerful electrical shock as she did so. The soldier doubled over, and she brought him down with a brutal strike to the back of his head.

The second solider quickly dropped to one knee, leveling his sub-machine gun at the DropShip captain. Salt pirouetted around, her leg knocking the barrel of the gun way from her.

Bullets sprayed down the hallway, ricocheting dangerously off the walls, and filling the empty passageway with flying lead. She continued her spin, bringing her left leg around for a vicious roundhouse kick, sending the soldier crashing into the wall. She followed up instantly, ruthlessly clubbing him in the head.

Sliding her stunstick back into her holster, she walked past the two slumped forms and entered the 'Mech hanger.

It was chaos, a line of soldiers, weapons out, were storming towards her, others taking positions to cover their approach. One of Stingers was out as well, turned towards her, its twin Linblad machines guns already trained on her.

She barked out, her voice booming over the dim of the hangar. "McMillan! What the hell is going on here!?"

She spotted him a second later, talking with a man in a Lyran officer's uniform. She caught a brief glimpse of his face before he quickly disappeared out of sight.

McMillan was waving his hands frantically as he rushed towards her. "Cease fire! Stand down! Stand down! Stow those weapons!"

The infantry pulled up short, their visored helms fixed on the woman in red, but they lowered their weapons.

"Captain Salt! Goddamit! I told you I'd handle the unloading!"

Salt fixed him with an icy glare. "This is my ship, Ernie. I'll go wherever I damn well please, whenever I damn well want. This is starting to look less like a cargo operation and more like an assault." She looked pointedly up at the Stinger towering over them.

McMillan spread his hands, cocking his head to side. "Captain Salt, please understand it's critically important that I maintain operational security here. Now, if you don't mind, please allow me escort you back to the bridge. I can assure you we will be done as soon as humanly possible."

Salt took another glance around the 'Mech hangar. There wasn't an exposed face in the bunch, except the one officer she'd managed to get a glimpse of earlier.

"The Colonel's going to hear about this, Ernie." She spun 180 degrees on her stiletto heels and headed out the way she came. The two soldiers were still out cold as she walked down the now pockmarked hallway.

Damn it. They had just it overhauled too.

-

Chapter 5

Galatea  
3045  
Lyran Commonwealth

The 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force had reassembled on Galatea after an extended period of rest and refit. They hadn't been together as a full unit in more than 8 months, the Colonel reflected.

But there was one little detail that couldn't wait any longer. Not after what he had seen on the holovids and after reading Lt. Weddle's report.

It was 0300 hours on his first day back on Galatea as the Colonel climbed into the cockpit of Sigil's Clint. He flicked an annoyed finger at the pine scented ornament hanging in the cockpit as he fired up the fusion engine and quickly ran through the startup checks. Thank Kerensky he had ordered that all the unit's 'Mechs contain a secondary authorization code for emergencies. Otherwise, he would have been effectively locked out of the 'Mech. Moments later, the Clint was slipping out of hangar and into the pre-dawn darkness.

-

His office looked just the same as he remembered it. In fact, it looked just about the same as every office he'd occupied during his military career. He flipped the intercom, ordering Captain Salt, Captain McMillan, Lieutenants Weddle and Hamilton, and Sigil to his office. It was time for their annual evaluations and debriefs from their disparate missions.

Lieutenants Weddle and Hamilton sat together in front of the Colonel's massive desk, each in their own fashion. Weddle sat as straight as a piece of endosteel, while Hamilton leaned back with a far more relaxed posture.

The Colonel nodded, mostly to himself, shuffling a few data pads around before addressing the two pilots. "You've both done extremely well. I couldn't ask for two more brave officers. Lieutenant Weddle, you've been overseeing operations here on Galatea in my absence, and things have gone well, for the most part. You are hereby promoted to the rank of Captain. Congratulations."

The Colonel handed one of the data pads over to Weddle.

"Leutnant Hamilton. You've performance on the battlefield has been exemplary. You've shown bravery beyond measure, and soaked up more damage and munitions than I've ever seen any 'Mech take before. Although I'm entering several awards and commendations for bravery in your profile, I can't promote you at this time."

The edges of the Colonel's mouth twitched upward slightly, almost forming a grin. "Of course, I don't think you really give a damn about something like rank, so there will be a significant increase in pay to go along with the shiny medals."

The Colonel handed a second pad over to Hamilton.

He was just about to dismiss the two pilots with the door opened with a start and Sigil slid to a stop inside the doorway. "Uh Sir, Um." He looked at the three of them and started stammering a little bit.

"Uh Sir, someone has stolen one of the 'Mechs, Sir."

There was a palpable feeling of darkness that settled over the room. The Colonel nodded his dismissal to the two confused pilots, and made a sharp motion to a seat for Sigil. Sigil noticed as he sat down that the veins on the Colonel's forehead were already reddened and pulsing.

"Lieutenant Sigil. While I was away on business, I happened to turn on the holovids, and while scanning the channels, came across a most interesting arena match." Sigil started to open his mouth, trying to make an explanation, but the look on the Colonel's face stopped him abruptly.

"Lieutenant Sigil, for twice disobeying a direct order to discontinue these ridiculous prize fights, and for brazenly misappropriating funds from the unit's accounts, I hereby strip demote you to Private and confine you to base unless under escort."

Sigil blinked hard a few times, "But Sir, my Clint is missing!"

The Colonel stood up and straightened his uniform jacket. "It is not missing Private Sigil. I sold it to recover the cost of that contraband Assassin, as well as to cover the costs for repeatedly repairing that piece of junk. I hope you enjoy it, because from now on that is the only thing you will be piloting, and you better pray we never salvage an Urbanmech. Consider yourself damn lucky that I don't just dispossess you outright! DISMISSED!"

-

The Colonel took a sip of his tea before addressing Captain Salt and McMillan. "Thanks to both of you for your work getting the DropShip and JumpShip overhauled on Clipperton. Your reports were both commendable."

He leveled his gaze at both of them. "Your recruitment of a JumpShip captain, however, leaves something to be desired."

The Colonel shook his head slightly. "I can deal with the man's excessive drinking, but I cannot and will not allow him to smuggle contraband on our ship. If he wants to run legitimate, legal cargo in between our contracts, so be it. But, I'll not have our names or reputations sullied, not to mention any possible legal ramifications. I'd like you both to find additional candidates, and have those on my desk within the month. Thank you both. Dismissed."

Captain Salt saluted, turned, and left. The Colonel, however, noticed that Captain McMillan had remained behind.

McMillian cleared his throat. "I'd like to say a few additional words regarding Captain Forrester."

Colonel Jason Henley looked up stonily. "Proceed."

"Colonel, Captain Forrester has extensive experience in both the plotting of, and the use of, pirate jump points, as well as entering star systems undetected. The Blue Danube is a Scout class JumpShip, so I thought it best to recruit a Captain who could take advantage of the unique capabilities of that class. I've also worked with Captain Forrester in the past, and I can assure you that he is both a capable and resourceful man."

The Colonel frowned. "I've carefully reviewed the unit's balance sheet, Captain. Including an unusually large deposit from the cargo you hauled back from Clipperton. Don't tell me you can clear six million C-bills selling munitions and machine guns."

McMillan met the Colonel's gaze head on. "I saw an opportunity, and I pursued it. Unfortunately, I was unable to contact you prior, but you chose to keep your travel plans private. In any case, the unit profited significantly, and we're no less for the wear."

The Colonel's penetrating look bored into the Captain's eyes. "In the future, Captain McMillan, you need my direct authorization for any and all activities related to the unit's transportation wing. Is that understood?"

McMillan never flinched. "Yes, sir."

The Colonel looked back down at his datapad. "Dismissed."

He didn't like it. He could sense there was something not quite right about the entire arrangement, and it filled him with unease.

His eyebrows furrowed as he pondered on what it could be.

-

After dispensing with annual evaluations and the review of the unit's financials, the Colonel strode out into the 'Mech hanger.

Sigil was slumped like a rag doll in the now empty Clint bay, looking disconsolate.

"PT will commence in the morning at 0530 for all staff. Field gunnery exercises will commence following lunch. That will continue for the next two weeks prior to embarking on our next contract. Welcome back people."

He snapped a smart about face, his dress shoes clicking against the ferrocrete as he returned to his office.

-

The heard Captain Salt approaching before he saw her. The staccato click of her heels was unmistakable. He looked up as she entered his office, closing the door behind her.

She tossed a datapad casually onto his desk as she remained standing. "You should take a look at this, Colonel. It's surveillance video from Snowmane's 'Mech hangar. It was taken while we were unloading the cargo on Ginestra."

The Colonel took the datapad without comment, watching the video. He chuckled. "You sure know how to make an entrance. Captain McMillan debriefed me on the entire operation. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that any further use of the unit's transportation assets will require my direct authorization."

Salt frowned. "Take a close look at the individual Ernie was speaking with as I was entering the hangar."

The Colonel scrolled the video back, zooming into McMillian. He couldn't keep the surprise off his face as he looked back up at her.

"Thank you, Captain Salt, for bringing this to my attention. Dismissed."

Salt turned and left, leaving him alone in his office.

What was Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto doing on Ginestra? It was now obvious McMillan, Forrester and Zardetto were all connected somehow.

And it wasn't through him.

-

Chapter 6

Galatea  
3045  
Lyran Commonwealth

Private Sigil stood at the foot of his rebuilt Assassin and looked up. And it was his. The Colonel had made that painfully clear. His former Clint was gone, vanished, poof.

He gave a long tired exhale, shrugging as he did so. Word had come down to get ready. The 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force would be leaving Galatea within the week. It was a real hush hush operation. Neither their destination, nor the expected opposition had been covered in the abbreviated briefing.

The orders were short and simple. Prepare for extended combat operations in hostile territory. The parts requisition Capt. Weddle handed him shortly after the briefing spoke volumes. The sheer amount of munitions, armor, replacement parts, medical supplies and rations told him more than the briefing itself. It was obvious they were going to have to absolutely self-sufficient. Possibly for as long as three months, maybe even longer judging from the quantity of the provisions.

He'd been running full out, eighteen-hour day after eighteen-hour day, handling logistics and in his rare spare time finishing up the retrofitting of his ASN-21.

The Merkel 280L fusion engine had made his dream reality. The Assassin was now a potent close in fighter. Dual Hovertec Short Ranged Quad racks in each torso. And, the original Martell medium in the right arm had been upgraded to a Magna 400P medium pulse.

But his favorite addition was the matched pair of Aberdovey Mk III medium lasers. He'd chosen them for a number of reasons. First and foremost, it was the heavy shock resistant mount integral to the design. The Aberdovey was commonly found on the 35-ton SDR-5V Spider, practically the only 'Mech in existence which could out jump his Assassin. As such, the engineers had taken pains to ensure its weaponry, which consisted exclusively of a pair of the Abderdoveys, could handle the constant stresses of take-off and landings. Which, as it turned out, was almost an identical situation to that of his Assassin.

The optics of most lasers were actually quite sensitive to sudden jarring movements, such as falling or landing from a jump. It tended to knock the lenses out of alignment reducing their effectiveness, or in some cases, rendering them altogether inoperable. Not these though. They expected to be jerked and jolted around. With even less armor than the humble Locust, if the Spider wasn't jumping, it'd be reduced to scrap in seconds on the battlefield.

Sigil grimaced. The same was basically true of his 'Mech as well.

The fact that the spectral purity of the Aberdoveys was second to none was icing on the cake. But his favorite trick was how he'd managed to position them on the Assassin. The factory ASN-21 sported a Holly LRM-5 in the right torso. He'd replaced that with a Hovertec Quad, but he'd left the fifth missile tube there. He'd done a similar thing to the left torso as well, making it appear as if the ASN had been refitted with a pair of Holly LRM-5s. Behind the cowlings, however, were the Hovertec Quads with the Aberdovey concealed in the extra missile tube. A nasty little surprise for his opponent.

Sigil grinned. The Assassin was as combat ready as he could make it.

He turned his head as the clicking of stiletto heels echoed off the walls of the cavernous 'Mech bay. He already knew who it was.

"Uhh... Captain Salt. Sir." He snapped to a rather sloppy attention.

Captain Varukka Salt fixed him with an icy stare. "I hope you've completed your final checks, Tech. I'm on the way to the Snowmane for pre-flight checks. You'll be loading up that tin can as soon as I finish. And I don't wait for anybody." She glanced up at the 40-ton 'Mech.

"Umm… you don't, you know, uhh… have any idea where we're actually going do you? I mean, do you, Sir?"

Her gaze snapped back to him, and she let it travel slowly down him and back up. "I just got out of a briefing with the Colonel, Captain Weddle, Captain Forrester, and Leutnant Colonel Paul Zardetto, our new liaison officer. I know exactly where we're going." She gave him a cool challenging look.

Sigil shifted uneasily as he looked down at the ferrocrete floor. "Well, umm, uhh… where? Where, Sir, I mean."

Salt almost let a small grin reach her stony face. Her right leg swept out suddenly, catching Sigil right behind the knee, collapsing him unceremoniously spread eagle onto his back as she pivoted to his side.

"Just be ready, Tech. For anything." She turned sharply, continuing on her way out of the 'Mech bay.

Sigil groaned as he propped himself up on one arm, gingerly rubbing his backside. Muffled laughter came floating toward him from across the bay. He sat up, looking for its source.

His cybernetically enhanced lance mate, Lt. Jeff Hamilton, came climbing down from the cockpit of his monstrous SLDF Royal HGN-732b Highlander. It was an extraordinary prize from their recent campaign on Alshain. He crossed the 'Mech bay, offering Sigil a hand up.

Sigil accepted Hamilton's hand, who promptly jerked him suddenly back to his feet. A broad grin crossed Hamilton's face. "You know, I think she likes you. Remember Rasalhague?"

Sigil turned beet red, shaking his head and protesting. "I don't remember a thing! I think you guys are just making the whole thing up! I told you, I blacked out!"

Hamilton continued chuckling. "Sure, whatever you say, Sigil. Anyhow, while your here, give me a hand checking out the Artemis VI FCS. The microwave transmitter tasked to the Holly-20 is cutting in and out and you're a wizard with that kinda thing."

-

The Colonel was performing a final visual inspection of the 69th's equipment prior to their departure. The Blue Danube was already charged and waiting at Galatea's zenith point, with Kitten's new Corsair in the small craft bay. Snowmane was being refueled at the StarPort, and all of the cargo and provisions had been taken care of.

All that was left were the machines of war. His polished shoes clicked against the floor of 'Mech hangar as he passed the assembled might of his unit. And it was impressive. His own Battlemaster almost looked small next to Hamilton's Highlander and Souther's 100-ton Atlas. Captain Weddle's jump capable Thunderbolt was next, followed by the pair of Archers he'd received from the Free Rasalhague Republic.

He stopped in front of Sigil's Assassin, curling his lips. It looked tiny, barely weighed half as much as every other 'Mech in the unit, except for the Hatchetman. Which, now that he thought about, was another "gift" from Sigil. Little wonder Sigil managed to get his 'Mech trashed every time he took it out on the field. And he doubted it would prove any different this time out, either.

He passed it by, stopping again in front of Lizzie Borden. There'd be a number of new faces too. Three new MechWarriors, the JumpShip crew, and more ground pounders. They'd grown substantially since Alshain. The 69th was a reinforced, combined-arms company now. With full transport.

The Hatchetman would be piloted by Virote Isamu, an ex-arena pilot. The Archers by Walther Radhow and Damaad, a pair a recent academy graduates. He'd break them into combat easy, their 'Mechs perfectly suited for long-range fire support, along with the two new LRM carriers he'd purchased.

The only question left was whether it would be enough. But there was only way to found out.

-

The command staff of the 69th was gathered aboard the Blue Danube in its small conference room. They would be making their first jump into Combine space shortly.

Captain Daniel Forrester looked at the star charts spread across the table with barely concealed disbelief. They carried a holographic stamp of the Star of Cameron and had been issued by the Transport Command department of the SLDF. And, they were dated 2750.

Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto pointed to a region of space labeled "Federation of Skye."

"This is the Federation of Skye, I'm sure your familiar with it." Zardetto paused, overlaying the current boundary lines of the Great Houses onto the old map.

"As you can see, the borders have shifted considerably since 2750, and the particular area we're interested in is now in Combine space, and, in fact, has been for quite some time."

"This area here, referred to as the Kannon Shire, was originally part of the Lyran Commonwealth. If you look closely, you will see a number of planets identified which no longer appear on our navigational charts. This cluster here is of particular interest. Kingtribel and Talisker both vanished from the map after the 2nd Succession War, and Kannon during the Third. Presumably, they were entirely annihilated by weapons of mass destruction, likely nuclear or biological, or both. In any case, contact was lost and never reestablished."

Zardetto looked up at the group of officers. "These lost planets are our destination. The LIC believes there is a base of operations located on one of these planets which is being used to stage attacks on Federation of Skye and fan the flames of the secessionist movement there. Our objective is to locate this base, and eliminate it if possible. We are also keenly interested in who, or what organization is behind these attacks. Kannon will be our first stop."

-

Chapter 7

Kannon  
3046  
Draconis Combine

The Snowmane was in orbit around Kannon. Colonel Jason Henley stared transfixed on the bridge as images of the surface played across the primary display. The normally boisterous crew sat or stood in muted sobering silence.

It was one thing to have studied the Succession Wars from the safe vantage point of history. But it was another thing entirely to come face to face with it.

What had once been major urban centers were now nothing but radioactive scabs scarring the planet's surface. The skeletal remains of buildings, factories, and infrastructure now served a tombstones for an entire planet's population.

That life, any life, could have survived the devastating nuclear holocaust was unthinkable. That men had willfully done this to other men was even more unthinkable. The atmosphere still reeked of radiation even now, hundreds of years later.

It was obvious Kannon was a dead planet.

Henley broke the oppressive silence. "Captain Salt. Prepare to return to the Blue Danube. There's nothing here." He turned, walking back to his stateroom, the click of his heels booming like thunder rolling across the plains.

-

Kingtribel  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Kingtribel. Contact had been lost during the 3rd Succession War. From orbit, it managed to look peaceful enough. In the least, the ravages of nuclear war hadn't come here.

Colonel Henley watched as the Snowmane's sensors began interrogating the surface. Optical, infrared, and electromagnetic arrays scoured the surface for any signs of habitation. The atmosphere appeared breathable, and there were both landmasses and large bodies of open water.

It didn't take long to locate one of the metropolitan areas that wasn't obscured by cloud cover. As the images started coming in, the Colonel actually found himself hoping to see signs of life. The complete ruination of Kannon had seared itself onto all of their collective minds. The extended amount of time in deep space had subtly led to a feeling of isolation and desperation. Of being alone, lost and adrift in a universe reduced to nothingness. A universe inhospitable to life.

He snapped back to the present as the first crisp images began to appear. It took him a moment to sort out what he was seeing. Huge clusters of fungi sprouted from the sides of crumbling buildings, making the former city appear like a huge mushroom patch. A bright orange mat of mold spread out underneath the buildings, covering the ground like a blanket. Red and purple slimes slowed oozed up the sides of any vertical structure, ending as they hit the stalks of the gigantic mushrooms.

The entire scene was a riot of bright vivid colors which practically screamed danger. Infrared and electromagnetic failed to show any obvious heat sources or possible power generation.

Captain McMillan turned to him. "Biological, possibly chemical, or both. I've seen this kind of thing before. Not as spectacular as nuclear detonations, but just as deadly. Could still be active. I haven't seen any signs of life on infrared. I recommend we keep scanning and check all of the major landmasses."

The Colonel remained staring at the lurid fluorescent fungi for a moment. "Captain McMillan. Supervise the scanning. I'll be in my office. If you find anything, let me know immediately."

-

McMillan continued to watch the scans. No electromagnetic, no infrared. No indication of any life form of significant size. It looked more and more like a biological attack. History was replete with examples, reaching all the way back to the First Succession War, of populations and planets alike decimated by bioweapons.

The Capellans were best known for developing and unleashing virulent plagues. The New Tierra del Fuego II plague of 2966 being one of the most recent examples. The virus had escaped a genetic research facility on Tall Tree. Once out in the wild, it killed every single living inhabitant on the island it were it escaped. Of course it hadn't wiped out an entire planet, but then again it hadn't been weaponized either.

Whatever had been let loose on this planet had. There was no way in hell he was going down there. The only thing thriving on the planet seemed to be myconids. And he seriously doubted anyone else would be willing to go down either. Which meant locating a base of operations here would be equally unlikely.

Still he watched hour after hour, until he was numb to the sight of a sterilized planet dominated now by mushrooms, molds, and slimes. The structures were all oddly intact, damaged only by the passing of time and fungal growth.

-

The MechWarriors of the 69th were gathered around a table in Snowmane's mess hall engaged in another lively debate to help pass the time.

Sigil stabbed the air with his fork. "Mark my words, that Assassin of mine, it'll drop any 'Mech I choose. Even an assault! And you can take that straight to ComStar!"

Hamilton guffawed loudly, reconstituted vegetable matter flying from his mouth as he practically choked with laughter. "You drop an assault with antique eggshell of yours, and I'll paint my Highlander pink and put bunny ears on it. And you can take that straight to your ComStar bank account!"

Sigil scowled. "Why don't we ask the ladies? They know it's not the size the counts, it's how well you maneuver." He turned, looking at Ismau.

Virote Ismau gave a small shrug. "If you'd asked me whether Sigil could have dropped Samba, my Vindicator, I'd have laughed at you too. But as it turns out, he did. There's something to what he's says."

Hamilton glanced over at the former Combine MechWarrior, smirking. "Well, I guess you'd know better then me about Sigil's 'maneuvers."

Virote turned a brilliant red, as Captain Weddle interrupted. "That's not what I heard. Maybe we should ask Varukka instead."

Now it was Sigil's turn to blush violently, as Corporal Southers chimed in. "Yea, Hamilton, better watch out, anyone who can put the moves on Capt. Salt is a dangerous one for sure."

Sigil recovered his normal color, speaking up suddenly. "Oh yea, that reminds me. I was uh… umm… reviewing the units… uh, records. And you'll never guess what I came across." He dropped his voice conspiratorially, as he glanced around.

"That Clipperton run, the one Dawg, McMillan, and Forrester went on. Well, you wouldn't believe the 'tech old Ernie had loaded up on the Snowmane. I came across surveillance video of the whole unloading operation." Sigil paused to whistle.

The other members leaned in a bit closer. "And better yet, you should have seen Captain Salt stroll into the cargo hold. She knocked two soldiers in full body armor clean out in like five seconds. Then, faced down an entire squad of storm troopers plus a Stinger. It was unbelievable! You should have seen Ernie coming running!" Sigil laughed, adding, "And if you don't believe me, just look closely at the walls in the main passage leading to the hold. Pockmarked with bullets."

Captain Weddle tried to keep the alarm off his face. He hadn't heard a word about this before. Where had Sigil dug this up from, and why hadn't the Colonel mentioned it to him? He glanced about the mess hell, but they were still the only ones in there at the moment.

"Anyway, I watched 'Mechs they were unloading. You should have seen the Phoenix Hawk they took out of there. One of the newtech PXH-3Ms. Built by Earthwerks on Keystone in the League. PXH II Endo Steel chassis, dual Diverse Options Sunbeam extended range large lasers, a pair of Martell medium pulse lasers, a GM 270 Extra-Light Engine, ten Freezers, and up-armored too boot. It's almost enough to make me want to trade in my Clint." Sigil stopped, coming up short, as he realized he no longer had a Clint, frowning.

Hamilton rolled his eyes. "Cram as much 'tech as you want in there, still only weighs half as much as my Highlander, and it'd be lucky to last a quarter as long on the battlefield. And no way it'd even come close to the punishment I dish out. One slug from my M-7 Gauss Rifle would blow right through a side torso and shut that little bird down. You can call it whatever you want, I just call it good salvage."

Damaad entered the conversation. "Where'd McMillan lay his hands on that? I heard that level of 'tech was only available to frontline House units."

Isamu softly spoke, almost sympathetically to the young recruit. "This isn't the Academy any more, Damaad. Out here, everything has a price, and there's always someone willing to turn a blind eye."

Their heads all turned as they heard approaching footfalls. Moments later, Captain McMillan, along with a half dozen of his operatives, entered the cafeteria. Almost as one, everyone grabbed their trays, hustling off towards the kitchen.

-

Try as he might, Colonel Henley couldn't shake off the unease that was slowly consuming his mind. He stared blindly at the stark steel walls of his stateroom.

His father's words still haunted him. "Sooner or later, you're going to have to ask yourself if you're willing to turn your guns on your own people for the sake of a paycheck."

The dead planets rattled him.

Zardetto's presence on Ginestra disturbed him

And there, lingering in the back of his mind, was the vision of he and Kitten, hand in hand, children at their feet, surveying the orchards on Whittington.

He was losing faith. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the doubts gnawing away at his mind.

-

Captain Forrester stood on the bridge of the Blue Danube. The two previous jumps had gone perfectly. Quite an accomplishment given he was plotting coordinates using maps that were 300 years old. Now there was just one to go, Talisker.

Don't get me wrong, he thought to himself, I've probably plotted a thousand pirate jump points in my time. But this was pushing it. It was taking a lot on faith, and he never trusted faith. Not in his line of work. It's was all science and hard numbers.

Jumps were like that. There was no grey area, no partial success or failure. It was an all or nothing deal each time. Absolute, and unforgiving. You either arrived, or you were dead. Simple. And there were always the tales of misjumps, of people being turned inside out, or arriving as drooling stark mad lunatics, or just simply disappearing forever.

And why he certainly wasn't a religious man, he was a gambler. All JumpShip Captains were, weren't they? And it was time to roll the dice once again. He opened the comlink.

"Standby for Jump. Engaging the KF Drive in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…"

-

Chapter 8

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

The Blue Danube materialized from the ether at the zenith point of the Talisker star system. Captain Forrester's vision suddenly snapped back into focus, as he shook off the disorienting effects of the K-F field.

He sucked his breath in sharply as he saw the scanners showing a large object some 10,000 kilometers away. Way to close for comfort. He quickly punched up the optical scanners, training them on the floating object.

"Colonel Henley. I've got what I believe is a Recharge Station approximately 10k kilometers off our aft side. Running an active scan now. The facility shows obvious visual signs of damage. Standby."

Colonel Henley started relaying orders immediately. "Lt. Sachs, I want you in your Corsair and out there ASAP! Captain McMillan, get your troops loaded in the Mark VII and prepare for immediate departure. Sachs will provide cover. I want you ready to land your troops on that space station. Captain Salt, as soon as I get aboard, detach from the Blue Danube. Dawg, your people will stay aboard the Blue Danube, to guard against any unexpected surprises. Lets go people!"

Forrester broke in. "Salt, I want to swing the Danube around to face the station. How long did you need to get clear?"

Salt answered back immediately. "As soon as the Colonel's through the airlock, I'm gone."

Forrester quickly glanced at the scanners. "Electromagnetic signatures detected! Looks like somebody's home. It's at least partly operational. Nothing on thermal yet."

-

Rachel "Kitten" Sach's Corsair cut like a knife through space as she opened the throttle wide. It had been far too long since she'd had the control stick in her hands. She barrel rolled a few times as she vectored in on the facility, savoring the responsiveness of the 50-ton AeroSpace fighter. It handled like a dream.

The recharge station, if that's in fact what it was, grew larger by the second. The front of the huge craft was bulbous, thinning out as it went back, and ending with six long spindly legs sprouting out behind it. Presumably they were booms for a Jump Sail, but clearly the sail, if it even had one, was not deployed.

The low light imagers on her Corsair brought the structure in focus. There were at least three large rents in the hull and the corrosion and decay from time untold gave it the appearance of ancient shipwreck.

"Angel One. Conducting visual scan. Three hull breaches, Jump Sail booms but no sail, no sign of activity, repeat, no sign of activity. It's definitely a recharging station. I'm going in for a closer look."

Forrester was monitoring her progress from the bridge of the Blue Danube. "Keep your eyes peeled, Sachs. The scanners show at least a single active power source aboard."  
He had swung the nose of the Scout class JumpShip around to face the station. The Snowmane had already detached, and was keeping station nearby.

McMillan's voice was next. "Standing by for launch. Bay is clear."

Kitten slowed as she approached the space station, scrutinizing the structure for any motion, any sign, anything out of place. She caught just a twinge of movement out of the corner of her eye, but it was enough.

Instantly, she peeled off throwing the thrusters wide open as she arced over then dropped like a stone. A pair of cerulean beams cut through the space she had occupied only a fraction of second earlier. A telltale plume of escaping atmosphere came next, as a bay began opening on the port side of the vessel.

"Contact! Contact! Taking fire! Station is opening craft bay doors! Target is live!"

Colonel Jason Henley was monitoring the entire situation from the bridge of his Union class DropShip, Snowmane. "Capt. Salt. Begin maneuvers to bring us within firing range of the station." He could feel the huge V250 interplanetary drive roar to life, as the ship began its approach.

As Kitten pulled out of her dive, a pair of unidentified red triangles appeared on her radar. "I've got two unidentifieds!" She could barely keep the excitement out of her voice. Her first real dogfight. It had been a lifetime in coming, and now it was here. And she meant to savor every second of it.

She pulled back hard on the control stick, her vision dimming as the intense gravitational force pulled the blood from her brain. The first of her targets popped up on her secondary. It was slightly larger than a Sholagar, but aside from the twin tail fins, the design was entirely different. Dual heavy missile launchers were tucked in next to the fuselage on either side, and the barrel of some other weapon system was plainly visible on the nose.

She wracked her brain for the details. She'd studied AeroSpace design at Thorin, had spent endless hours pouring over the technical readouts which detailed each type of space craft in common use throughout the Inner Sphere. She was only certain of only one thing. This wasn't any of them.

She was coming up fast from underneath the lead craft, the second just beginning to dive down toward her. She triggered her dual Exostar large lasers, stripping armor from one wing and the fuselage as she shot up and past it. The second craft nimbly slide slipped in behind her, launching a pair of salvos from its long range missile racks. Missiles exploded across her craft, causing her craft to buck and shudder, but it was heavily armored.

She completed the Immelmann, leveling out and moving into a J-turn, practically stalling her Corsair in mid-flight as she rapidly changed directions. The pursuing fighter shot past her, unable to match the incredibly tight radius of her turn.

She dropped her reticle over the other unidentified fighter, her Exostars creating long scars across its fuselage. It barrel rolled, and then they were in and out Scissoring, jockeying for shots. She keep as close as she could manage, knowing now that the craft's primary weapons were LRMs. With a pair of Martell mediums, backed up with 4 Exostar small lasers, at close range there was simply no competition. It returned fire with a single medium laser, but time and again she ravaged the craft with her arsenal of lasers.

It was faster though, she'd give it that much, and finally the pilot, unable to gain the upper hand, simply went into a defensive spiral. The missile lock indicator suddenly began blaring, and her Corsair was again rocked by flight after flight of missiles. It's wingmate had gotten in behind her while she was tangled up with it's partner.

She pulled into a Hi Yo-Yo, letting the diving craft go, as she tried to get the other fighter off her tail, but it slowed, matching her turn, sending another flight of LRMs exploding across her craft. She janked her stick back, applying full rudder, causing her Corsair to roll over the top, shedding airspeed and throwing her opponents aim off. Then they were cutting back and forth in Flat Scissors, as she brought her close range advantage back into play, raking the craft repeatedly with her bevy of lasers.

Clearly outgunned, the enemy craft applied full thrusters seeking to outdistance her. She took a quick second to re-orient herself in space. Both crafts were rocketing back towards the station. The armed space station, she reminded herself. She banked off, breaking contact.

"Angel One. Disengaging. The space station is hot. Repeat, the space station is hot. Recommend against landing the Mark VII at this time."

-

Colonel Henley watched as Kitten broke contact, taking up station high above the Blue Danube. McMillan and his men remained loaded aboard the Mark VII, but were staying put for the moment in it's small craft bay.

"Sanchez, hail the station, open frequency."

Sanchez nodded from his position at the communications console. "Your live, Colonel. Go ahead."

"This is Colonel Jason Henley, Commanding Officer, 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. You have fired unprovoked upon one of our craft. Identify yourselves immediately."

Sanchez cut the mic, interrupting. "Colonel. I just detected a communications transmission directed toward the planet. Trying to triangulate it now. Patching over to the Danube. Simpson! You pick up the signal from the base station? Send me over the coordinates, I'll send you mine. Lets see if we can get a fix on where they're transmitting too."

Suddenly a new voice came over the comlink. "This is Adept V-Omega Jezebel Lorelei, commander of The Beacon. Welcome."

There was a pregnant pause, and you could hear a pin drop on the bridge.

Then she continued. "To the last star system you will ever see. May the blessings of Jerome Blake be upon all of your souls."

The two unidentified AeroSpace fighters abruptly accelerated, heading directly for the Blue Danube. Henley cursed as he realized he'd taken them out a supporting position in order to close with the space station. The Ares Convention strictly prohibited attacks on JumpShips! We're they crazy?

Just as fast, Kitten put her Corsair into a steep dive, swopping down on the two racing fighter craft, but she was already a second too late. Both fighters unleashed their salvos of LRMs at the Blue Danube, wreathing her aft in explosions.

Her Exostars ripped through the wing of one of them, sending it spiraling controllably away into deep space, but she simply didn't have enough time or firepower to stop them both. The second fighter continued to accelerate on its collision course, firing a second salvo of LRMs at the Danube as it rocketed towards the JumpShip. Another set of explosions sent one of the Jump Sail boom arms spinning away, mangling another.

Captain Forrester was screaming on the bridge of the Blue Danube. "Seal all airlocks! Damage Control teams to the aft! Bring Turret One online! Engage anti-meteorite defense system! Maximum sensitivity! Bring that ****** plane down NOW!"

It was one of the modifications he had made when the Blue Danube was getting overhauled on Clipperton. Normally, Scout and Merchant class JumpShips are unarmed. They were considered non-combatants. Interstellar travel was the lifeblood of the Inner Sphere, and JumpShips were just too rare to even think about destroying. Without them, everybody loses, so there was a gentleman's rule forbidding an attack on one.

Luckily, Forrester was way too paranoid to take that on trust alone. So he'd had the anti-meteor system and weapon turret from an Invader class retrofitted onto the Blue Danube. Better safe then sorry. And, as things were developing, it just might end up saving his life.

The dual PPCs in the turret fired at the rapidly approaching AeroSpace fighter, one skimming just over the port wing, the second striking it directly on the nose. There would barely be enough time for a second shot. The Blue Danube groaned, shuddering violently as the fighter launched yet another volley, adding the single nose mounted laser, pouring firepower upon the fragile ship.

It was too close to miss. "Brace for impact!" Forrester screamed. The turret belched forth another twin streak of lightning. They collided with the fighter in a blinding electrical flash, followed by a fiery blossom as a huge explosion consumed the craft, washing over them.

Everything plunged into chaos and darkness. Alarm klaxons screamed at the top of their lungs, as the bloody red emergency lighting kicked in. The entire avionics suite flashed once, twice, then went offline entirely.

But the audible hiss of escaping atmosphere was the one that frightened the Captain the most.

Henley watched in horror as the aerospace fighter slammed into the side of the Blue Danube, the resulting explosion obscuring the entire scene.

He was consumed with rage. "Open Fire! Slag that ****** station!"

The Snowmane shuddered as it's PPCs and autocannons opened fire. Flight after flight from its six LRM-20s filled the intervening space with countless missile entrails as the space station was continuously rocked by explosion after explosion. Huge, new rents appeared in its hull, and plumes of escaping atmosphere poured from countless holes as the Snowmane vented its full fury upon the already seriously damaged facility.

Slowly the red haze cleared from the Colonel's eyes. "Cease fire. Cease fire! Stop firing ******!" The station had practically been scrap when they had first seen it, now it was nothing but a ravaged shell.

"Sanchez get me Captain Forrester!"

The sound of the Blue Danube's alarms filled the bridge as Sanchez patched the JumpShip captain in. "Colonel! I've got a hull breach, main power transfer conduits are damaged, Jump Sail booms are trashed, avionics offline, I'm leaking atmosphere! She's messed up pretty bad. I gotta check the integrity of the K-F drive, but I'm not sure it even matters! How the hell am I gonna charge it anyway!?"

Sanchez piped in. "Hyperpulse Generator signal detected. There's an HPG down there, Colonel. And who ever is down there is talking to someone."

-

Chapter 9

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

The Colonel frowned. Their presence here was certainly no longer a secret, and worse, whoever was on planet had already gotten a communique out. Which meant the clock was ticking. He had to act, and quickly.

"Captain Salt, prepare to conduct a High-G burn towards Talisker. The cat's out of the bag."

He turned towards the communications officer, Sanchez. "Did you manage to trace the point of origin of that hyperpulse sigal?"

Sanchez nodded. "I'm working up a solution now. Simpson managed to get me the data from the Blue Danube before the avionics went down, so I've got three points to work with. I ought to be able to give us at least an idea of where it's located, sir."

"Get me Forrester."

Captain Daniel Forrester's grim face, eerily illuminated in red from the emergency lights crackled to life on the primary display.

"Captain Forrester. We are making preparations for the burn to Talisker. What's your status?"

The JumpShip captain grimaced. "Not good, Colonel. The K-F coils appear undamaged, but the entire charging system is in shambles. We're still on backup power. I'm going to send McMillan over to what's left of the recharging station in the Mark VII to see if he can turn up anything useful there. With a bit of luck, and whole lot of bailing twine, I might be able to rig up something. I just don't know yet. But I don't like the idea of you leaving. If things get much worse, we may be forced to evacuate the ship, and this baby doesn't have any escape pods or life boats."

"How long do you need, Captain?"

Forrester shrugged. "Hard to say, a day maybe? I'm sending McMillan out now while I've still got the juice to open the craft bay doors. I'd like to get all the non-essentials off of her now. Oxygen is going to be at premium until we can get the power back online. What a goddamnn mess!"

A day. Well, there really wasn't any choice was there. He turned to Captain Salt. "Can we provide the Blue Danube will auxiliary power? Snake a power feed over to her?"

Salt pressed finger to her headset, looking off. "Spanner. Can you run a power feed to the Danube?"

She listened intently for a few minutes, nodding periodically, then turned back to Henley. "Yea, it's possible. McMillan's gonna have to get out there in the Mark VII and get his people out in spacesuits. And Spanner wasn't sure where, or if, the Danube has an external hookup we could use. This isn't exactly standard operating procedure."

The Colonel scowled. "Put Spanner in touch with Forrester and McMillan. Have them work out the details. Looks like we're not going anywhere for a while. Handle the coordination of this operation, I'll be in my stateroom if anything arises."

He snapped a sharp about face, leaving Salt on the bridge.

-

The Snowmane was equipped with an umbilical cord for use in emergency situations to provide, or receive, external power and oxygen. Spanner was standing by in engineering, ready to throw the switch.

Captain Salt was on the bridge as usual. "Ok, Forrester, everything ready on your end? Spanner's standing by."

Captain Daniel Forrester was still bathed in red emergency lighting. "Just have him ready to cut it if things don't go right. I've been in a lot of tights spots, but I gotta say, this one's the worst yet. Alright. Do it."

As Spanner threw the switch the Snowmane browned out. The lights flickered, the recirculating fans slowed and the ship suddenly seemed much quieter than before.

Spanner immediately began barking over the comlink. "******, you half-wit Atreusian sewer rat! I don't have enough power to feed your entire ****** ship, Forrester! Cut off all the non-essentials, you bloody cockroach excrement! By Kerensky! Your gonna bleed us friggin dry, you son of a Kuritan ooze slug!" Spanner continued lobbing expletive after expletive over the comlink.

"I've already cut off everything non-critical, you pinch-faced, pint-sized, bearded bowling ball!"

Spanner looked about ready to explode, "Why you little…" as Captain Salt intervened.

"Can you both at least pretend to act like adults? As if the situation isn't bad enough already." She let out a long sigh. "Now, is the link stable?"

Spanner growled, his eyes bright with anger. "Ya, she's stable enough for that power sucking energy leech he calls a JumpShip."

Forrester's eyes were equally filled with anger. "I'd like to see how your little ice cream cone over there would handle a kamikaze strike from an AeroSpace fighter!"

Spanner guffawed, spitting a wad of phlegm out. "Sure. I've got this new invention, it's called 'armor' and these things called 'weapons.' I'd like to see someone take a shot at my baby, it'd be the last ****** thing they ever saw!"

Salt simply cut the comlink. This wasn't getting them anywhere. She opened a direct link to Forrester. "Proceed with whatever repairs you can manage, and have McMillan land on the remains of the space station. We're like fish in a barrel sitting out here. Keep me updated. The Colonel left me in charge of this entire farce, and I'm beginning now to understand why."

-

McMillan set the 150 ton landing craft gently down on the ravaged surface of the recharging station. The Mark VII was the perfect landing craft. Not only did it handle fairly well, both in and outside of the atmosphere due to its aerodyne shape, but it could also hover like a VTOL for short periods of time. Meaning you could land it without needing a runway. Which was a good thing, because there certainly wasn't a runaway available.

He and his men were all suited up for zero gravity. He had to hand it to the Colonel, not only had he sent his unit to Clipperton for zero-g combat training, but he'd also outfitted his entire squad with the necessary, not to mention expensive, gear to carry out operations in space. Maybe he had a sixth sense or something. Because without it, the current situation would have a whole helluva lot worse.

"Prepare to open the airlock. Check your seals and weapons. There could be survivors."

Moments later his squad was walking across the surface of the station, their heavy magnetic boots clanking loudly against the hull. The station was deathly quiet as they approached the craft bay door the fighters had launched from. Four of his men were equipped with heavy laser cutters, as they approached the breach, the others fanned out around them, their laser rifles at the ready.

The thing about working in a vacuum is that a small tear in your suit can be just as deadly as a laser. And the wreckage of the station was filled with sharp jagged metal points making the simple act of walking as dangerous as navigating a minefield. The going was painfully slow, and to make matters worse, with only a finite amount of oxygen available the whole thing was on a timer.

The cutters made short work of rounding out and enlarging the breach in the craft bay doors, and McMillan was first through. His visor mounted light illuminated the pitch-black interior. His men followed in behind him, a number of them activating high intensity lamps, dispelling the remaining darkness.

They were in the small craft bay of the station. The damage was not nearly as bad as he had expected. Aside from the damage to the bay doors, the hangar was actually still in fairly good shape. Not that there was any way it could be considered operational but still, it was surprise. His squad progressed across the floor, maneuvering around scattered debris and the wreckage covering the floor.

"Lt. Jackson, take your men and make way your towards the bridge. I'm going to head toward engineering."

The layout of most any star ship was similar, and this one was no different. Captain McMillan passed through a pair of airlocks before arriving at a steel catwalk crossing a large chamber. As his men flashed their beams down below them, he could see what appeared to large banks of batteries below them. Most of them were ruptured or obviously damaged, but a number of them appeared to still be in usable condition. Of course, there was really way no knowing with a thorough examination, and his time was limited.

His squad crossed the catwalk, passing through another series of airlocks. He pulled up short as he came to a lock that was actually still secured. They were deep in the heart of the station now. Motioning the two men with the lascutters forward, he readied his laser rifle.

As the men penetrated the heavy plate steel, the unmistakable hiss of atmosphere filled the passageway. A long minute later, a section of the lock came free, floating in the zero gravity spilling red light into the passageway from the room beyond. The pressure quickly equalized and his visor reported the air to be breathable.

Crouching, his rifle at the ready, he entered the area, his men quickly fanning out to either side, alert and ready for anything. A huge fusion engine connected to numerous pipes and conduits filled the huge room. A few red LED emergency lights cast the room in heavy shadows, but he could feel subtle humming even through his heavy magnetic boots. Movement caught his eye, as he fell into an automatic crouch, ordering his men to fan out with a quick gesture.

"Possible contact in the engine room. Fusion engine appears to be online. Repeat, possible contact, engine is hot."

With a flick of both hands, he sent men advancing in staggered lines on either side of him. Each line leapfrogged forward, one then the next, swiftly proceeding deeper in the engine room. They maintained overlapping fields of fire as they move. It was strangely similar to a dance. And it was, in fact, carefully choreographed. Drilled into them time and again, until it seemed uncomfortable to move in any other way. They went everywhere together, each unconsciously watching over the other regardless of their environment. A habit never broken, not even in the bars.

McMillan followed immediately behind their sweep, moving efficiently from cover to cover as he went.

"Contact! Three Alpha-Gammas, One Niner Charlie! Behind the north maintenance terminal!"

McMillan responded with his next set of orders. "Protocol Sigma. Charlie, cover Bravo. Ack."  
"Charlie, moving now, sir. In position in on my mark."

McMillan watched as Charlie platoon shifted north, itself breaking into two pre-determine teams. They moved in position behind partial cover which offered overlapping supporting fields of field.

"Mark!"

McMillan commanded, "Bravo, move in, in three… two… one… mark!"

There was a sudden flurry of movement ahead of him as seven of his men converged on the terminal. The report of heavy gyrojet pistols briefly filled the air as his visor automatically polarized at the brilliance of his men's laser fire.

And just like that, it was over. Three of his men, their entire chests nothing but bloody ruins, floated aimlessly backwards. They'd been killed instantly by the powerful explosive tipped gyrojet rounds. In front him, three figures in the quasi-religious robed guard of ComStar hung dead, floating in the air. A fourth, buckled into a seat directly in front of the service terminal, stared lifelessly ahead, surrounded by a mass of floating blood globules.

McMillan moved swiftly towards the terminal. Dammit. He had wanted to take the unarmed one alive for interrogation, but he'd apparently been caught in the intense crossfire and killed. He examined the console screen, as the dead man watched on.

"By the Usurper himself!", he cursed. The screen was filled with the same message repeated over and over "Delete. Confirm Delete. ********** Deleting… Scrubbing… Delete. Confirm Delete. ********** Deleting… Scrubbing… Delete. Confirm Delete. ********** Deleting… Scrubbing… Delete. Confirm Delete ****"

He hadn't managed to get everything, though. The last command was still incomplete, meaning there must be at least something left in the databanks.

Just then one of his men called out to him. "Captain, you need to see this. Each of the dead men had the same tattoo on their right forearm. A broad sword, with what looks like a sunburst behind the hilt."

McMillan glanced over, looking at the dead man's now exposed arm. Two other soldiers had exposed the same marking on the other two dead robed figures. It definitely wasn't the standard ComStar disk with a tail, but it had strong similarities.

Lt. Jackson came over his comlink. "Captain. We're outside the bridge. The door is sealed, probable hostiles inside."

McMillan didn't miss a beat. "Lt. Jackson, set charges, open all airlocks and blow the door. ROE Delta. Ack."

"Acknowledged."

McMillan turned his attention back to the service terminal. He'd recovered whatever was left, maybe he would find some answers there later. "Brave and Charlie, sweep the station for any more hostiles. Inventory any possible salvage and supplies, and then proceed to the landing craft."

The ship shuddered as explosions ripped through the bridge. Moments later, Lt. Jackson reported. "Bridge clear. No survivors. It's vented to deep space."

"Lt. Jackson, take your men and sweep the top half of the ship, Bravo and Charlie are on the bottom. Inventory any possible salvage and supplies and return to the landing craft."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

-

Colonel Henley was in his private office when McMillan's face appeared on his display. "McMillan here, Colonel. I'm back aboard the Blue Danube."

Henley leaned forward, "Your initial report, Captain?"

"All I have is suspicions, Colonel. If they're ComStar, they're not from any branch I'm familiar with. All of the bodies we recovered had the same marking on their right forearm. It looks like a white disk with a tail overlaid on a longsword. But, they all wore robes just like Comstar acolytes and adepts."

McMillan shook his head. "I think we've got to proceed under the assumption they have some connection to ComStar. We need to make planetfall to get more information. Whatever it is, I don't like it. They seem to be the fanatical type. I don't like the way they attacked the JumpShip. But I do have some good news. There's a good 200-300 tons of supplies onboard that station we can salvage. Mostly foodstuffs, medical, dry goods and oxygen. I don't have a complete inventory just yet. And better yet, Captain Forrester thinks we can pull some of the JumpSail booms off the station to repair the Blue Danube. He said it's gonna take some time, but it's not like we can go anywhere anyway."

Henley nodded. "Brief Lt. Colonel Zardetto. I'm going to ask Captain Salt to begin preparations for a burn to Talisker now that Captain Forrester has managed to return power to the Blue Danube. I'd like a few more answers myself."

-

Chapter 10

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Captain Salt was conducting a brutal 2-G run towards Talisker. After months of zero gravity, pulling two-g's felt like someone was sitting on your chest. Colonel Jason Henley was anxious to make planetfall. Lt. Sanchez had reported additional HPG activity from the planet's surface. It cut both ways. Now they had an excellent idea of where the base of operations was located, but it also meant reinforcements were likely on the way.

This entire operation was turning into one big CF. Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto had pointed out the obvious. If they found evidence of a ComStar connection to the raids in the Skye March, the balance of power in the Inner Sphere would have to be recalculated entirely. Operation Flush had ended only two years earlier in stalemate. The MIIO had been waging a covert war against the ComStar's ROM in an attempt to expose the fact ComStar was playing partisan politics. And while they had managed to kill, dislodge, and uproot a number of ROM cells, in the end, all it had served to do was to distract the MIIO from the War of '39. Which, Henley sourly reflected, had been plagued with bad, and sometimes even entirely wrong, intelligence.

Now, there was little doubt that ComStar had struck some kind of deal with the DCMS. The sudden appearance of a rash of Star League era 'Mechs fieldied by the DCMS had largely put the question to rest. He had seen them and fought them himself with the 3rd Lyran during '39, and then again on Alshain with the KungsArme.

And then there was the abrupt appearance of the Free Rashalhague Republic, conveniently located between FedCom and Combine space, looking oddly like a buffer state. Still, the evidence was elusive. That Hanse Davion was certain ComStar was up to something was unquestionable as well. What is was, however, remained shrouded in secrecy. Perhaps they would turn up a piece of the puzzle here.

What it didn't change, was the fact that his unit had presumably attacked a ComStar facility. Which could have dire repercussions. Not only did ComStar run the Mercenary Review Board, they also served as a neutral third party for financial transactions and as an arbiter of contract disputes. And, of course, they had the power to place any House under Interdiction who hired a mercenary unit ComStar held liable for attacking their facilities. It was an ugly mess already.

The question was whether he was digging himself out, or digging himself in deeper by landing on the planet.

Unwanted, he heard his father's voice in his head from his last trip to see him on Whittington. "The harsh reality is that war is political by its very nature. You can't escape it, son. You can choose to fight for whoever is paying top dollar at any given moment, but make no mistake about it. It's the politicians dictating the targets, and commanding the generals."

-

Captain Salt landed the Snowmane unopposed on a large plateau some one hundred kilometers southeast of the base. They already had satellite imagery of the installation taken on their way to the planet's surface. The repeated HPG traffic had served well to pinpoint the location.

It consisted of a series of buildings clustered around a large ferrocrete landing pad. Fuel tanks, maintenance and 'Mech hangars, barracks, a couple warehouses, and a control tower of sorts were plainly evident.

What were notably missing were fixed weapon emplacements, fortifications, watchtowers, or any evidence of static defenses whatsoever. Henley could only assume they had trusted their security to obscurity. The overall impression was one of a small private civilian StarPort. Clearly it could handle a pair of Union class, and perhaps even a single Overlord class DropShip. But no more than that. Judging from the size of the hangars and barracks, he estimated the facility could support a battalion at maximum capacity.

Thankfully, there were no DropShips present at the moment, and he was willing to bet, in fact he was betting, that the facility would be lightly defended. It appeared the raiders were out, wreaking havoc somewhere else.

As soon as he felt the Snowmane settle on to the ground, The Colonel began ticking off orders in his trademark staccato manner. "Lt. Isamu and Private Damaad, establish a secure perimeter along with the armor. Capt. McMillan, get those two whirly birds up ASAP, I want eyes in the sky, have the rest of your men load up in the hover APCs. Captain Weddle, I want you to assemble the strike force. Hamilton, Sigil, Southers, and Walther, you'll join us for the initial assault on the base. Let's get moving people!"

The Colonel snapped a crisp about face, Lt. Lagemann in step immediately behind him, and the two began climbing up the side of the Colonel's 85-ton Battlemaster.

Twenty minutes later, Colonel Henley's attack force passed through the perimeter, leaving the Snowmane behind.

Lt. Virote Isamu frowned in the cockpit of her Hatchetman, as the other MechWarriors passed her by. She'd seen the looks the some of the other MechWarriors gave her when they thought she wasn't looking. Like they didn't trust her.

She sighed. It was her Combine heritage. She reviewed the history of the 69th shortly after Sigil offered her a position in the unit. They'd fought the DCMS on Vega during '39 and then again on Alshain a few years later. And, it was no secret that Captain Weddle hated the Combine with a passion. So here she was, babysitting the DropShip while the others got to go have all the fun.

She opened her comlink. "Come on, Damaad. Let's make another circuit." With a shrug of her shoulders, Isamu turned, resuming her patrol.

-

"This is Whirly-One. I've spotted an advance patrol. Standby for feed."

"Lagemann, take the controls, I want to take a good look at the incoming feed. Patch it back to the Snowmane and have Capt. Salt shoot it up to the Blue Danube as well."

With nary a hiccup, Lt. Lagemann patched the feed through and then smoothly assumed control of the 85-ton war machine. He and the Colonel had operated together in his Battlemaster's command console for long enough now they had developed a simpatico.

The Colonel sharply sucked his breath in. Kerensky! It was like watching an old holovid on the 2nd Succession War. Six 'Mechs were moving in a "V" formation, and fast too. Anchoring the center was the unmistakably slender profile of 60-ton Lancelot, each arm consisting entirely of a long barrel housing a heavy laser. Just to the right and left behind it, another easily identifiable design. The backward canted legs, the claw in the right arm, and the distinctive shape of its body made them a pair of 50-ton Crabs. Each equipped with dual large lasers.

The other three were smaller, likely light 'Mechs, all of them lacking hand actuators, their arms ending instead in a series of barrels of various diameters. All vintage Star League BattleMechs. Of that much he was certain, if by process of elimination if nothing else. It pegged them as the raiders they'd been contracted to find. How many other units of former SLDF 'Mechs could there possibly be?

"Lagemann. Can you send this over to Sigil? I need some IDs. I'll take the controls back."

He had to hand it to the Hartford COM 4000, Lagemann thought to himself, as he routed another live video stream over to Sigil's Assassin. He could probably coordinate an entire battalion with this baby.

"Private Sigil, the Colonel wants IDs on those six 'Mechs, sending you the feed now." Lagemann relayed.

Sigil was cruising at over 100 kph in his Assassin, which was, scarily enough, practically a walk for the incredibly fleet machine. The ride was rough, sure, but you couldn't beat it for speed. He flicked the incoming video feed up onto his HUD, whistling to himself. Kerensky, it felt good to be in the cockpit again!

Then his eyes fixed on the feed, as his mouth opened wide in shock. The Assassin stumbled, and Sigil reflexively hit the Lox Lifters, suddenly launching the 'Mech into the air.

"Goddamit, Private! What the hell are you doing up there! This isn't some blessed Sunday afternoon joyride! Fall back into formation, and ID those 'Mechs," the Colonel barked.

Sigil brought the Assassin gracefully back down, throttling it back to maintain his assigned position as point guard without getting too far ahead of the assault 'Mechs lumbering behind him.

"Lancelot and Crab for sure. Then I'd say a pair of Night Hawks, and…" There was short silence before Sigil came back on. "No way! It can't be! They haven't been seen since the fall of the Star League! They don't exist anymore!"

Sigil couldn't keep the rising excitement out of his voice. "Oh my god… it's THE light command 'Mech hunter! Stealth systems, electronic countermeasures, double heat sinks, a Nightwind heavy laser, as fast as my Assassin and can jump as far too! I WANT IT! NO ONE SHOOT AT IT! IT'S MINE!"

The Colonel scowled in his cockpit. Don't shoot at it!? He calls it a command 'Mech hunter, then says not to shoot at it!? Was he crazy? Ok, he already knew the answer that question at least. He viciously stabbed his comlink, activating it. "Private, calm your ass back down before I send you back to the DropShip. No enemy 'Mech is to be given any special consideration. Our primary, and only, concern, is, was, and remains, the successful completion of this mission. Is that understood?"

"But, Colonel, that's a Spector! DLK Type Phased Array Sensor System with Norse Guardian ECM  
Suite! They even made a few of those babies with the Null Signature System and Chameleon Light Polarization Shield for the Royal SLDF! There aren't supposed to be any left! It's got the same movement profile as my Assassin. It's everything my Assassin dreams of being, and more! That thing is a legend! No, more like fantasy! "

Lt. Hamilton broke into the link. "You can fantasize about it all you want, after I punch it full of holes with my M-7 Gauss rifle. Now what about those two Hawks? Do you know their weapon loadouts?"

Sigil was horrified. "I'm serious! You can't shoot it! It's priceless lostech for Kerensky's sake!" He reined his Assassin in, turning it to face Hamilton's 90-ton Highlander.

Hamilton responded by leveling the barrel of his torso mounted M-7 at him and painting him with a missile lock from his Holly 20 rack. "Colonel, request permission to fire. Don't make me bury your ass, Sig."

And, for a brief moment, the Colonel was sorely tempted to grant it. "Private, get back on point. Permission denied. Now, what about those Hawks?"

Sigil extended the middle finger of his left hand actuator at Hamilton's monstrous assault 'Mech, then slammed on the Lox Lifters rocketing away, turning in midair, and resumed his position.

"Ya, ya. Extended range large laser, standard heavy laser, and a medium pulse. All energy weapons. Double heatsinks, max speed just under 100 kph, and no jump capability. It was the sole design of Mountain Wolf BattleMechs on Vendrell before the plant was destroyed. Although, now, I think Mountain Wolf produces the Merlin on Alpheratz in the Outworlds Alliance. Meh. There nothing special. You can scrap those if ya want, Hamilton."

The Colonel shook his head. Sigil was like a walking technical readout. Maybe he was autistic or something. Wouldn't that would explain a lot.

"Whirly-Two. I've got activity coming out of one of the hangars on the base. Standby. Transmitting now. Looks like the big boys are coming out to play. Count six, repeat, six, additional units. At least two, possibly three, appear to be assault class."

As the Colonel switched his attention to the incoming feed from the VTOL, he was interrupted by an open broadcast coming over the COM 4000.

"This is Demi-Precentor IV-Alpha Ryo Chevrue. Your unit has deliberately attacked a ComStar facility, killed ComStar personnel, destroyed ComStar facilities and equipment, and are trespassing on ComStar sovereign territory. I have transmitted a full report of your transgressions to my superiors as well as the Mercenary Review Board. Your ComStar accounts have been seized pending a full investigation, and all of your unit's assets are forfeit. Furthermore, your unit will be prosecuted to the maximum extent of the law for your violent and reckless actions."

There was a long pause.

"However, Colonel Jason Henley, Commanding Officer of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Forced based on Galatea, you have a choice. You may surrender peacefully, submit to re-education, and potentially join the followers of our Blessed Founder, Jerome Blake. Or, you may die here and now."

There was another period of silence, broken by Sigil's voice. "Uhh… I hate to interrupt, but, umm…, I was wondering… is that Spector a -4F or a -5F? Cause I heard there weren't any -4Fs left."

The Demi-Precentor's voice shot back. "Identify yourself."

"Oh! Uhh… I'm Leutnant… err… opps… I mean, Private Sigil. Uh… 69th VXF?" Sigil's voice rose as he trailed off.

"What you see before you, Private Sigil, is the foresight of our Blessed Founder. The Great Houses of the Inner Sphere have steadily descended into madness. The technological advances of the Star League are lost to them. However, a select few have maintained the achievements of our forefathers for hundreds of years. And soon, it will be time for those same few to reclaim the throne of First Lord, and bring the Inner Sphere out of the darkness it had floundered in for far too long. So I ask you, Private Sigil, do wish to become one of the chosen few, or perish like the rest of the chattel."

Colonel Jason Henley was temporarily rendered speechless. Couldn't Sigil ever keep his big mouth shut!? "Lagemann, remind me to disable the mic in any 'Mech Sigil pilots. Ever."

The Colonel opened his comlink. "This is Colonel Jason Henley, commanding officier of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. You have violated Lyran Space, killed Lyran citizens, and destroyed Lyran facilities and equipment. You, Demi-Precentor, have no choice. You will die here and you will die now."

The Colonel flipped back over to his encrypted command frequency. "If you're done chatting up the Demi-Precentor, Private, I'd like an ID on those other six 'Mechs now."

"Oh, ya, uh… sure. Umm… you not going to like it though… sir, I mean, sir. I mean, you're not going to like it, sir! That huge monster with the claws, that's a 100-ton Pillager. Dual Gauss rifles, jumps 150 meters. The one with blade attached to its right arm, that's a 70-ton Excalibur, it carries a Gauss rifle too. I'm sure your recognize the Longbow, it's basically an LRM platform. Then there's the 75-ton Black Knight, the one that looks likes it wearing a helmet. It's practically a walking energy weapons platform, PPC, a pair of heavy lasers and four mediums to back it up. Known for heat problems, though. I'm not sure about that the one with a barrel on its left arm. Looks like a ballistics weapons, which might make it a Striker, but I'm not positive. The smaller one is a jump capable Wyvern. Only 45-tons, but heavily armed and armored. LRM-10, SRM-6, heavy laser. Not a bad design really, but too slow for my taste."

The Colonel grimaced in his cockpit. Out ranged, out gunned, and out numbered again. He hit Sigil's private comlink. "Sigil, any chance we could evade and return to the DropShip?"

"NFW! Not with all those fat ass 'Mechs you like to field! Sure, I could get away no problem, but… I mean… uh… No, sir. Negative, sir. No chance, sir. Uh… Over, sir."

The Colonel took a deep breathe. "Ok people, here's the plan…

-

Captain Weddle glanced down at the console of his modified TDR-5S one last time. It was a nervous habit, a compelling urge to make sure all systems were in good order prior to combat. Reaching forward, he pressed the system diagnostic key yet again. The familiar green display appeared in the visor of his neurohelmet, just right of the center of his field of view. There was a brief pause before the results of the scan began to scroll down in simple black text.

CRITICAL SYSTEMS:

LIFE SUPPORT: 100%  
SENSORS: 100%  
ENGINE OUTPUT: 100%  
GYRO: 100%  
ACTUATORS: 100%  
INTERNAL SRTUCTURE: 100%  
COOLANT CAPACITY: 200%  
ARMOR: 100%  
JUMP JETS: 100%

WEAPON SYSTEMS:

ER LARGE LASER: ONLINE  
SRM-6 (A): ONLINE  
SRM-6 (B): ONLINE  
MEDIUM LASER (A): ONLINE  
MEDIUM LASER (B): ONLINE  
MEDIUM LASER (C): ONLINE  
SRM ARTEMIS: 15 SLAVOS  
SRM INFERNO: 15 SALVOS

"******." He whispered, so as not to broadcast his thoughts to the rest of the unit. Sigil had apparently neglected to reset the coolant sensors after replacing the heat sinks with freezers. Not that it mattered now, but he would be sure to let him know later.

The 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force was now just 2,000 meters out from the enemy force. The Colonel had elected to take six of their eight 'Mechs to assault the base. The remaining 'Mechs, along with the heavy armor, were guarding the DropShip in case any unexpected visitors showed up.

The unit had opted for a secure landing site some hundred klicks southeast of their objective to ensure the Snowmane didn't take any fire. It was a longer walk than he'd wanted, but at least he had the chance to see the rolling fields, streams, and native plant life that had been undisturbed for nearly three-hundred years.

The Colonel, in his Battlemaster, led the first short lance. Flanking him were Souther's Atlas and Hamilton's Highlander.

He led the second short lance, with Walther's Archer only a few dozen meters behind him.

Then there was Sigil. His small 40-ton Assassin roaming freely up ahead of everyone. Nominally, he was assigned to his short lance. Weddle shook his head, and chuckled under his breath. He couldn't pass this up. He switched his com over to Hamilton's private channel.

"Hamilton, how does it feel to be led in to battle by an Assassin?"

After a brief pause, Hamilton calmly replied "I got something for him. And **** you too!"

Hamilton switched to the open channel, chuckling to himself. "Sigil! Contact on your four and eight! Two heavies!"

The Assassin's jump jets fired instantaneously. In mid-air, Sigil twisted his 'Mech's torso, followed by its legs, before landing it in a crouching position a full 180 degrees from its original facing. He was a great pilot, that much was for sure. And, he was clearly alarmed, the medium pulse laser in his Assassin's right arm held at the ready, scanning back and forth searching for a target. Sigil scanned his four and eight several times before he caught on.

The coms crackled to life with laughter. Was that a chuckle he heard from the Colonel?

The Colonel's voice broke into the laughter. "Pull it together Private, the enemy forces are just over that bluff. Fall back, and take your position with Captain Weddle. Everyone, weapons free. You know the plan."

A chorus of "Yes, sirs!" came back over the command channel, as the assembled warriors of the 69th performed one last weapons check, releasing safeties as they prepared for imminent combat.

Lagemann, riding shot-gun in the Colonel's Battlemaster, broke the silence with his thick German accent.

"I've got twelve 'Mech signatures 900 meters beyond those hills."

Just ahead were two small bluffs ninety meters apart. Enough cover for each lance. In unison the 'Mechs broke into a two "V" formations. Weddle leading Sigil and Walther to the left, the Colonel leading Hamilton, and Southers to the right. An eerie silence descended upon the 69th, the calm before the storm. Not a single pop or crack from the keying of coms could be heard.

Weddle glanced to his right, ensuring the Colonel and he crested their respective bluffs at the same moment. Sure enough, the Battlemaster was lock step with his T-Bolt as they both climbed the last few meters to the summit.

From his new vantage point, Weddle looked across the lush, rolling fields that spanned nearly a full kilometer, towards the landing facility. The picturesque landscape before him looked like a holovid he'd seen of ancient terra in history class back at Sanglamore. Unspoiled, devoid of any sign of man-made structures, except for the small base.

The afternoon cast a long shadow down the bluff. At least we have the sun to our backs, Weddle thought to himself. A flash of light from the fields below caught his eye, a split second later, the missile lock alarm broke the pastoral silence.

Maybe Sigil would stick to the game plan for once, Weddle mused as he got his first real glimpse at their enemies.

-

Chapter 11

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Corporal Walther opened up with his Archer's dual FarFire LRM-15s just as he crested the bluff. Twenty seven out of thirty missiles exploded all over the rapidly approaching Lancelot, an impressive show of accuracy enhanced by the Artemis IV fire control system. He'd piloted an Archer before. In fact, he'd like to think he'd been in the cockpit of just about every heavy 'Mech out there. Current company excluded. He hadn't seen any of the 'Mechs advancing on him now outside the holovids.

He was older then the Colonel by at least decade, but, then again, the Colonel was unusually young for someone holding that rank. He'd been surprised, to say the least, when the Colonel assigned him one of the unit's factory new ARC-5Rs. Built on an Endo-Steel chassis, all the original weapon systems had been upgraded. The LRMs with Artemis IV and the original heavy lasers to Victory Nickel Alloy Extended-Range models. Not to mention the dozen freezers.

The Lancelot, and it's lancemates, were closing fast. As it emerged from the cloud of smoke, Walther noted with satisfaction the center torso and right arm had both sustained moderate damage. And with the extended range lasers, he had time for another shot before it got within firing range. The heat increased appreciably as the dual Victory Nickels stabbed out towards it. He was at a dead standstill, the lower half of his 'Mech concealed just behind the rocky ridgeline. And he knew he was a good shot. The Colonel knew it too, which was he'd hired him even though he was dispossessed.

A half-ton of armor melted from each of the Lancelot's arms. Blue sparks flew from its right shoulder, as the barrel of one it's Krupp heavy lasers swung loosely down, the supporting actuators destroyed.

Walther smiled in satisfaction. That's called fire support.

-

Sigil was crouched behind the ridge, looking down at the enemy 'Mechs. He scowled. He wanted to drop an assault, the Colonel's plan be damned. Nobody understood his Assassin's true capabilities. He couldn't slug it out. He couldn't afford to stand still even for a second. He needed to move. He quickly surveyed the approaching enemies, his eyes falling on the 85-ton Longbow. Hmm. Yeah. That's it. That's the one. Even his 40-ton Assassin had more firepower at close range. And that thing was a walking ammo explosion waiting to happen.

He stomped onto the Lox Lifters, rocketing over the ridgeline, landing an astonishing 210 meters away, practically half way down the slope. He hit the ground, opening the Merkel 280L wide open, his machine accelerating to almost 120 kph in seconds as he tore down the slope like some kind of crazed animal.

A string of German epithets exploded from Captain Weddle's mouth as he watched Sigil charge 700 tons worth of Star League era BattleMechs. Slamming on his own jump jets, he sent his T-Bolt rocketing over the top the ridge onto the other side of slope, sending his Sunbeam ER large laser at the damaged Lancelot. So much for the Colonel's plan he thought as another half ton of armor melted from the chest of lead enemy 'Mech.

A pair of extended range large lasers arced out from the two ComStar Night Hawk, both passing high over the swiftly moving Assassin, the Lancelot's Kinslaughter PPC throwing up dirt just in front of it.

Sigil slewed his 'Mech hard to right, practically skipping across the slope, towards the group of assault 'Mechs engaging the Colonel, who was still holding position atop his bluff. This was the critical moment of the entire maneuver. He'd present an excellent target to all twelve of the enemy 'Mechs. All he had to do was survive, then he'd finally be within firing range.

-

From his position atop the bluff, Colonel Henley watched as the ComStar forces advanced. They seemed to operate in units of six, instead of the standard lance size of four. The two groups pulled even with each other, then, in unison, began their advance on natural redoubt he'd hastily established.

"Concentrate fire on the Excalibur. Engage at maximum range."

He grimaced. The only advantage he held to help offset their superior ranged firepower was the partial cover of the ridge. To his right, Hamilton's Highlander shuddered as he fired his M-7 and Holly 20 rack. To his left, Southers sent his Doombud arcing into the sky as well. His own Donal PPC was still out of range. Dammit, he should have had Sigil swap it out for the Fusigon Longtooth extended range version. At the time, he didn't think the additional 50% heat generated by the new model was the worth it. Now he did, but it was too late.

The advancing ComStar forces were suddenly obscured as they launched a terrifying volley of 70 LRMs. The sky was criss-crossed with the entrails of over 100 missiles, and then the explosions began. The entire ridge line in front of them exploded as the majority of the missiles either landed short, or slammed into the cover. Souther's Atlas bore the brunt of the attack, missiles exploding across his torso and right arm. Then one of the Gauss rifle slugs ripped into his pock marked right arm, peeling away a full ton of armor from the limb, the other two deadly slugs exploding chunks of the ridgeline pelting the three 69th 'Mechs with a shower of rocky debris.

The Excalibur was covered in explosions as missile after missile impacted the 70-ton 'Mech. They clustered heavily on the right arm carrying the Grizzard Gauss Rifle, stripping it entirely of armor, but failing to detonat the huge weapon's explosive capacitors. Its center torso and right also took light damage, then Hamilton's Gauss slug buried itself into its left leg, the massive slug penetrating straight to the bone with a single shot.

Lagemann's voice broke his concentration on the battle unfolding below. "Private Sigil has jumped the ridge. Captain Weddle is in pursuit behind. Corporal Walther is maintaining position on the ridgeline, sir."

Henley glanced sharply to his left. By the Usurper! What the hell was Sigil doing! His small 'Mech was racing at an angle across the slope heading toward the massed assault 'Mechs which were engaging him and his men. "Private Sigil! I ordered you to hold that ridge! What in Kerensky's name do you think you're doing!"

"Uhh.. I'm drawing fire? Then, I'm gonna take out that Longbow? Someone needs to record this!"

-

Sigil tore down the slope, bottoming out as he reached the plains. His entire viewscreen was filled with machines of death. He glanced quickly to his left, catching the Spector leaping towards him, as the other five 'Mechs seemed intent on Weddle's T-Bolt who'd followed him down from the ridge. He turned his torso to the left as he continued to race towards the cluster of assault 'Mechs. The Spector was the only one he was really afraid of. Just as maneuverable as his own Assassin, it was the only one he couldn't escape.

It hit the ground, vectoring towards him, triggering its Nightwind heavy laser as it pursed. Armor evaporated from his left arm, leaving it dangerously bare, with just a single shot. Sigil screamed into his com. "Weddle get it off me! Get that Spector off me!"

The Striker, Black Knight, and the Wyvern filled the intervening space with a vicious barrage of heavy laser and autocannon fire all directed at him. This was the moment of truth. He'd either survive this onslaught and get into position, or he'd die here and now. All of his weapons were still out of range. He was only good to a paltry 270 meters.

The Striker's Pontiac light autocannon tore into his already damaged left arm, chewing away at the structure, as its Hellstar PPC crackled through the air directly in front of him. The Wyvern, carrying another Nightwind heavy laser like the Spector, missed as well, the beam passing where he'd been only seconds before.

But the Black Knight fired true. Its Magna Hellstar II PPC ripped the armor from his right arm, sending shockwaves of excess electrical energy dancing up and down his right side. It followed up with one of its two heavy lasers, drilling deeply into the left arm, ravaging the limb and leaving only a smoking stump where it had been, as his alarms klaxons blared to life. "Left Arm Critical. Left Arm Destroyed."

He'd survived. Now it was his turn.

-

Hearing Sigil's scream, Weddle dropped his reticle over the leaping Spector, firing his Sunbeam. He was rewarded as he hit its right leg, but the light 'Mech hardly seemed to notice, continuing to focus its attention on Sigil's Asssassin.

He was totally committed now as he rumbled straight towards the lead Lancelot, still some 400 meters ahead of him. He clinched his teeth in frustration, wishing for a moment he hadn't swapped out his LRM-15 for a pair of 6 rack, as he stared down five ComStar 'Mechs.

The two Nighthawks fired their dual large lasers, followed by four more from the pair of Crabs. Just like that two tons of armor evaporated into nothingness. The Lancelot joined in with its Kinslaughter PPC and its remaining heavy laser. Another ton of armor vanished from his 65-ton 'Mech. His left arm was close to critical, his left torso, center torso, and right leg had all absorbed hits as well. But he'd chosen the T-bolt for its ability to rumble, and he stormed ahead undeterred. They would pay for scratching the factory shine on his new 'Mech.

Ahead of him, the Lancelot was covered once again in explosions as Walther continued to provide fire support for the ridge behind him. The left side of it disappearing entirely under the onslaught of LRMs, as its right leg was speared by a laser. The thermal scan on it blossomed as missiles pounded into its now heavily damaged left torso. Engine hits!

The 60-ton machine staggered under the intense fire, slipping. It went down hard on its chest, ripping a long furrow in the ground before coming to superheated stop, the engine automatically shutting down from the massive damage to its torso.

-

Colonel Jason Henley recognized the opportunity instantly. With half the 'Mechs engaging the fleet footed Assassin, he had a brief chance to chisel away at his unit's range deficient. His Battlemaster was still out firing range. "Hamilton, maintain position and cover us. Southers, with me, we're moving in!"

The Colonel's Battlemaster, flanked by Souther's 100-ton Atlas crested the ridge like avenging angels, thundering down the other side. "Continue concentrating fire on the Excalibur." The Atlas belched forth another salvo from its Doombud as the Colonel triggered his Donal at extreme range. The missiles landed short, but the Donal slammed into the right torso of the 70-ton ComStar 'Mech.

Behind them, Hamilton unleashed both his 20 rack and his devastating M-7. The accuracy of the Artemis system was remarkable. Sixteen missiles wreaked havoc across the already damaged heavy 'Mech, opening up holes in both its left leg and right torso. The slug from the M-7 ripped into the other leg, burying itself deep within the internal structure, and spinning the machine around.

It landed heavily on its right arm as it fell. The force of the crash setting off the dangerous capacitors that charged the Grizzard. A blue electrical storm enveloped its entire right side, utterly destroying half of the 'Mech. It lay still, a smoking ruin, face down upon the ground.

The Pillager turned it dual Guass rifles on the Atlas. A pair of nickel-iron alloy slugs buried themselves in the right and center torso of the 100-ton monster. Few 'Mechs, indeed, could eat multiple rounds from the legendary weapon, but the Atlas one of them. It's 19 tons of Durallex Special Heavy made it the most heavily armored war machine on two legs. It followed up with a Defiance B3L heavy laser, melting another half ton of armor off the Atlas's right arm.

Then it was the Longbow's turn to rain death upon the beleaguered assault 'Mech. Twenty-seven warheads detonated across the damaged behemoth, but its tough hide refused to be penetrated as missiles struck all over it. But the loss of a full five tons of armor in seconds was too much for Southers to handle, causing him to lose his balance. The Atlas skidded, the Corporal overcompensating and the 'Mech went down with a ground shaking boom.

-

Sigil screamed in triumph as he tore right through the ComStar assault 'Mechs at insane speed, the Spector still hot on his tail. The Longbow shuddered as it fired another quartet of LRMs at his friends.

Party time! He whipped around the rear of the slow ponderous assault 'Mech, his 'Mech skidding crazily as it brought almost to a standstill behind the 85-ton fire support unit. He dropped his sight over the rear of the 'Mech and let fly with everything he had.

His Magna 400P medium pulse stitched a line across the thin armor of its left rear torso, as the two old Martells melted armor from both the center and right rear. He just needed one hole to exploit with his dual Hovertech Quad racks. He fired the Quad racks, six short range missiles corkscrewing into the already damaged rear. A number of them exploded against the vulnerable rear, a few striking the back of the assault 'Mech's arms. But, nothing had penetrated. Nothing.

He stared a moment in disbelief. It wasn't supposed to happen this way! Then, the Spector struck back viciously with a barrage of laser fire. Alarms klaxons roared to life again. "Right Arm Critical. Right Arm Destroyed."

He swore bitterly in his cockpit. Just a few more seconds! Please Kerensky! Just one more chance!"

-

Chapter 12

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Captain Weddle was still swearing in his cockpit. A pair of Night Hawks and two Crabs were fanned out ahead of him with every intention of bringing him down. Sigil was nowhere to be seen, and Walther was still on the ridge hundreds of meters behind him. He was alone.

"Walther, work left to right, starting with the 'Hawk." There was no point in slowing down now, the majority of his firepower was short range anyway. He angled over to his left, dropping his sights on the first Night Hawk, catching Walther's next volley arcing down towards the 35-ton Star League era 'Mech.

His Sunbeam hit center mass as the 'Mech was struck by a pair of LRM volleys. Detonations blasted almost a ton of half of armor from it, showering the ground in flaming metal fragments. The center torso had been laid bare, but the 'Mech didn't slow. One of Walther's Victory Nickel's struck it left torso in a last ditch attempt to drop the machine, but it failed.

Weddle braced himself for the return fire. Eight crimson beams leapt out towards him. Five of them struck his T-bolt, each boiling away a half ton of armor, but none of them managed to strike the same location, and the T-bolt's armor managed to remain unbreeched.

As he closed to within 250 meters, he let loose with his bank of mediums lasers and dual SRM-racks. Time to rain pain. Two of his Diverse Optics melted the last of the armor from both its left torso and right leg, the third drilling into the exposed chest cavity, penetrating the engine shielding.

Then his Artemis enhanced missiles collided with it, ten out of twelve striking true. They clustered heavily against the Night Hawk's chest, sending coolant gushing out of its left side and pouring down its legs as multiple heat sinks were destroyed. Steam poured from a huge hole extending all the way across its left side as leaking coolant came into contact with the dangerously hot and damaged fusion engine of the crippled 'Mech. It veered off, stumbling, as the 'Mech shut itself down.

-

Captain Weddle wasn't the only one arriving on the field of battle alone. The Colonel had made the same calculation. The majority of his Battlemaster's firepower was short ranged as well, and so he choose to continue to close the gap between himself and the ComStar assaults, even as Southers feel behind, struggling to get his Atlas back on its feet. "Hamilton. Concentrate fire on the Pillager. I'm moving to engage it now."

The Pillager was a frightening looking 'Mech. Both hands ended in sets of wickedly sharp claws, and each torso housed a Poland Main Model A Gauss Rifle. The Colonel was under no illusion that even his Battlemaster would last long under that kind of massive damage. The awesome firepower of the 100-ton 'Mech made even the combined threat of the nearby Longbow, Striker, Black Knight, and Wyvern pale in comparison.

He fired his Donal PPC as the Pillager slung a pair of high velocity slugs at him. He hit it in the right arm, but the beast failed to even notice it. The Battlemaster shook violently as one of the slugs ricocheted off his right leg, the other hitting his right arm with a sickening crack. Still it wasn't done. A large laser scored a line across his opposite leg, as the Pillager leered in satisfaction at him as if daring him to come closer. A silvery flash flew past him, as Hamilton's M-7 crushed armor plates on the Pillager's chest. A full flight of LRMs from his Highlander added to the carnage, but the beast seemed to pay it no heed.

Then, the Colonel's Battlemaster was rocked from the side, as both the Black Knight and Striker unloaded into him. The Knight's PPC hit him full center, itss large laser missing wide, as the Striker added its own Hellstar and Pontiac. Armor was disappearing from his 'Mech at an alarming rate unsustainable rate.

The Wyvern leaped off, backwards, as the Longbow turned around, the Colonel catching just a fleeting glance of Sigil's Assassin back in the rear of the ComStar formation. He was still up and drawing a lot of fire off of his Battlemaster. It was almost enough to forgive him, but that would have to wait until after the battle was decided. Assuming they survived.

He continued at a lumbering run towards the Pillager, gasping in relief as he finally got into range with his sextet of Martells and Holly 6 rack. He sent everything he had at the Pillager just hoping to slow it down, maybe throw of its aim. But the monster simply ate up his laser fire, most of his missiles flying high, and kept coming.

The Colonel felt a cold shiver snake up his spine. His alpha-strike hadn't even made it break stride. "Lagemann. SitRep."

"Lancelot, Excalibur, and one of the Night Hawks down, sir. Captain Weddle's facing three to one. Walther's backing him up from atop ridge. Sigil's in their rear, facing three to one. Hamilton's on fire support. And Southers is just now getting back up. Frankly, sir. I'm worried about us, not them."

-

Screw it, Sigil thought to himself. He'd known in his heart the Spector would best him the moment he saw it on the field. He was just going to have to eat it. The Longbow, sensing the danger, slewed around wildly trying to shake the Assassin of his damaged rear. Sigil hit his right side jump jets, skating the 'Mech nimbly around, keeping his reticle dead center rear. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the Wyvern jumping to the defense of the Longbow, landing suddenly directly between him and his intended target.

Then everything began to unfold in slow motion. The Wyvern landed, as he continued to skirt left, forcing him to pause just a few seconds longer to get a clear shot at the back of the Longbow. He fired at the same time the klaxons went off for the third time.

"Right Rear Torso Critical. Right Torso Medium Laser Destroyed. Right Torso SRM-4 destroyed."

The Spector had turned the tables, nailing him in the rear.

The Wyvern fired its Nightwind, drilling him in the chest, and sending four short range missiles exploding against his thin armor, and leaving his right leg dangerously exposed. His firepower had been reduced to less than half.

His first Martell hit the already damaged center rear armor of the Longbow, just barely failing to penetrate it, as the second went wide hitting the back of its left arm. But the dual Hovertecs flew true striking the 85-ton assault with 7 out of 8 missiles. Two of them struck the hole created earlier by his trusty old Martell on his opening salvo. And the two warheads found their way to the ammunition bins for the Longbow's right side LRM 20.

It was a glorious moment. It was what he had intended to do all along. Hamilton's words came floating back to him. "You drop an assault with that antique eggshell of yours, and I'll paint my Highlander pink and put bunny ears on it. And you can take that straight to your ComStar bank account!" He opened his comlink, laughing hysterically, "Bunny ears! Bunny ears!

The explosion was catastrophic. The Longbow was loaded with five tons of explosive warheads, and the concussive blast caused by their simultaneous detonation utterly destroyed 85-tons of high-tech military hardware in a fraction of a second. The blast radius engulfed the hapless Wyvern as well, hurling it backwards, molten shards of armor and reinforced steel ravaging the rear of the 45-ton machine as it was thrown violently clear. It pinwheeled through the air, landing with a bone wrenching crunch, and lay still, wreathed in smoke and fire.

The blast caught up Sigil as well, throwing him backward. Shrapnel splintered the glassteel of his cockpit as the entire right side of his 'Mech was sheared away by flying 'Mech detritus, the klaxons wailed as he flew backwards through the air. "Right Torso Critical. Right Torso Jump Vent #2 Destroyed. Right Torso Jump Vent #3 Destroyed. Right Torso Engine Shielding Damaged. Right Torso Engine Shielding Damaged. Right Torso Jump Vent #1 Destroyed. Right Torso Destroyed. System Status Critical."

The Assassin landed on it back, metal shredding off of it as it skid to a smoking stop. Sigil looked up at the bright blue sky through his shattered canopy, his mind detached and wandering.

He saw the sleek visage of the Spector looming above his ravaged machine. His comlink sprang to life, a lilting female voice drifted dreamily into his cockpit. "By the way, she's a -5F. Shut down immediately or die, Private Sigil."

Disoriented, Sigil squinted up at the sexy lines of the 35-ton ComStar 'Mech. It had a voice like an angel, and the chassis to match. He found himself oddly consumed by a single thought. He was in love. He had to pilot it! His entire life had been but a hollow preamble leading up this very moment, this single opportunity. The mission, the battle, his unit, they all just evaporated away. He knew what he wanted now. He started laughing hysterically as he shut down the Assassin and popped open the canopy.

The Spector nodded, then turned racing back to the battle.

Sigil followed on foot.

-

Chapter 13

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Corporal Walthers watched as the remaining Night Hawk accelerated, flanking the Captain's Thunderbolt as the two Crabs rushed him. Even with Freezers, the Archer's cockpit was approaching blistering, but he dared not slow down his rate of fire any further. He was already alternating his Victory Nickels, but even that wasn't enough to keep the 70-ton 'Mech from continuing to heat up dangerously.

Another wave of heat washed over him as he sent his dual FarFires and one of the heavy lasers at the Night Hawk. The heat was affecting the accuracy of the missiles, as only 18 struck true, blasting armor from the Night Hawk's left arm, and right side. But the Victory Nickel drilled it straight in the head, just barely failing to penetrate. The Hawk was well armored for such a light 'Mech, he thought, much to his dismay.

Captain Weddle sensed he was in danger of being surrounded and overrun. The Hawk was racing around his left, as the Crabs closed in on his front. Still, his T-Bolt had another surprise in store. It was why he had insisted in the -5SE model. He fired his jump jets, rocketing backwards, angling to keep all three ComStar 'Mechs in his forward arc. He smiled in satisfaction as he saw the 'Hawk taking missile and laser fire from Walther on the ridge above.

He centered his reticle over the damaged 'Hawk, unleashing the potent close ranged fire power of his 65-ton war machine, as the ComStar 'Mechs responded in kind with another bevy of heavy laser fire.  
His Sunbeam boiled armor off its chest, as one of his trio of Diverse Optics severed the left arm off at the shoulder. Again, the Artemis IV proved its worth as 11 out of 12 short range missiles covered the 'Hawk in explosions, the majority clustered on the right half, stripping the armor from its remaining arm, but failing to destroy it.

Twin spears from each of the Crab's RAMTech 1200 heavy lasers pierced his 'Mechs tough hide. A full ton of armor poured off his right leg, as he took additional strikes to his right and center torso. The Night Hawk fired its remaining Defiance heavy and medium pulse laser. The heavy laser missed off to his right, but the medium pulse traced a line across his left torso, leaving the internal structure exposed.

She was taking a beating. He gritted his teeth, the next few seconds would be decisive.

-

Corporal Southers struggled to get his Atlas back onto its feet. Ahead he could see the Colonel's Battlemaster being mobbed by a mass of heavy and assault ComStar 'Mechs. He let fly with his Doombud LRM-20 as he rose, the missiles landing between the Pillager and the Black Knight, throwing up huge clods of dirt. Behind him, Hamilton's Highlander fired its own LRM followed by the silver streak of a Gauss rifle slug.

The Pillager's left arm took the slug, as a dozen missiles detonated against it. The gruesome 'Mech's leer was temporarily obscured as its head was covered in explosions, but still it closed with the Colonel's Battlemaster.

The Colonel's Battlemaster briefly shone like the sun, as six mediums lasers drilled into the approaching Pillager. The Colonel's PPC and Holly six rack completed his assault. But the Pillager just continued to eat it up, as if it was immune to the damage, and Southers shuddered in his cockpit as the beast open fire again.  
The first slug hit the Battlemaster right in the chest, physical knocking the 85-ton machine backwards. The second obliterating its right foot and mangling the supporting structure of the leg, as the large laser slagged armor from the left torso.

Then the Black Knight and Striker poured the hurt onto the beleaguered 'Mech. Twin McCorkel heavy lasers from the Knight punched into the already reeling 'Mech. One striking the left arm, as the other continued to savage the exposed structure of the right leg. The Striker's Pontiac blasted craters along the Battlemaster's left leg, as its HellStar PPC stuck the right arm.

The Colonel screamed in fury. His Battlemaster had never gone down since they day they'd captured it on Vega back in '39, and he wasn't about to let it go down now. Bending at the knee with his still fully functional left leg, he extended his left arm out behind him, bracing himself for the jarring impact. His left hand hit the ground hard, furrowing deep into the earth as his 'Mech skidded back, his left knee ripping another long trench through the earth as his 'Mech came to a stop on its knees.

A huge explosion suddenly ripped through the air, as a massive fireball erupted from behind the Pillager. His comlink crackled to life as a manically laughing voice screamed, "Bunny ears! Bunny ears!"

Lagemann followed up immediately from behind him in the command console, his voice shaken. "Sigil's down. Longbow destroyed, Wyvern down."

Growling, the Colonel whipped his torso to the right, discarding his hand held PPC as he did so, his chest erupting with medium lasers and short range missiles targeted at the Pillager now only a few dozen meters away and closing fast. Half of his Martells hit the Pillager's thickly armored right leg, leaving barely a scratch, another the left leg and chest, but the last struck the clawed right hand of the beast leaving it a smoking ruin. His short range missiles exploded against the monster's other arm, still failing to penetrate it, another ineffectually striking the left leg.

Spreading both arms out wide, the Colonel launched the Battlemaster from its crouch, in a last ditch attempt to tackle the juggernaut and bring it to the ground. As he flew recklessly towards the ComStar assault 'Mech, it opened with a quartet of its own medium lasers, two of them striking his left arm, a third the left leg. The last one drilled into the armor just below the cockpit, sending up a geyser of steam as it boiled away the scarce armor protecting his head. But still it wasn't done. Its Defiance large laser stripped away the last of the armor covering his left arm, leaving both arms now vulnerable to structural damage.

With a deafening, bone jarring collision, the two lords of the battlefield collided.

-

Leutnant Hamilton watched as the Colonel's Battlemaster was driven to its knees by the 100-ton goliath. They were almost on top of each other now, too close together for him to risk another shot at it. He scowled as he slewed his reticle over towards the Black Knight, keying his com. "Southers, target the Black Knight. There's nothing more we can do for the Colonel."

He sent his 20 rack and M-7 streaking down towards the heavily armed 75-ton 'Mech. He smiled in satisfaction as the Knight was shrouded in missile explosions, his Gauss rifle crushing armor plates on its right arm. He hadn't missed all day. It was practically like a turkey shoot for him from his perch atop the ridge. Not that he would have minded being down in the thick of it. But the Colonel's orders were the Colonel's orders. Fire support from the ridge. And his 'Mech was well suited to the role.

Besides, he didn't want to risk scratching the finish on his Highlander. Especially after Weddle had completely trashed his previous 'Mech back on Alshain, a factory new -6K Warhammer.

He glanced over towards the other ridge. Walther was holding position as well, launching salvo after salvo of LRMs, and alternating with his arm mounted extended range heavy lasers. He was looking pretty damn hot on the thermal scan, though. He nodded in approval. A solid MechWarrior. At least he wasn't the only who could follow orders in this unit.

His attention was drawn back to battlefield below as Southers engaged his Deathgiver for the first time, the roar of the huge ballistic weapon reaching all way back up to him on the bluff. It's about time, Hamilton thought to himself as he watched the torrent of slugs rip straight into the Knight's chest, knocking the 75-ton 'Mech from its feet and sending it crashing down on its right side.

Southers followed up immediately with a pair of Hellion-Vs and his Thunderstroke 6 pack. Both flew wide, and only a pair of his short ranged missiles struck the downed 'Mech, the other four exploding around it.

At least he managed to hit with the autocannon, Hamilton thought, as he watched the Striker fire on the Atlas, all three of its main weapons connecting with the assault 'Mech. Good thing the Atlas had armor to spare.

-

This is gonna hurt, Weddle grimaced as he open his com. "Walther, finish off that 'Hawk before it gets into my rear, I'm moving to engage the Crabs!"

Both Crabs were untouched by the battle, and fanned out to either side in front of him. He gave up on the speedy 'Hawk as it skirted around off to his left, he'd have to trust Walther to do his job, he had more pressing problems just now.

Slamming his throttle wide open, he tracked his torso left as he sought to rush right between the two opposing Crabs. The field erupted in weapons fire as both Crabs fired their sets of heavy lasers at him and he responded in kind with an alpha strike on the western one.

Alarm klaxons screamed their dire warning. "Right Leg Critical. Right Leg Foot Actuator Destroyed." The other two RAMTechs melted armor from his chest and left leg, a fourth coming up just short. The Night Hawk opened up just as his T-Bolt stumbled, the right foot now unresponsive, causing one of its heavy lasers to miss high as the other melted another half ton of armor from his right arm.

Both his Sunbeam and one of his Diverse Optics mediums drilled into the Crab's center torso, stripping away more than half of the armor protecting its delicate gyro and fusion engine. The other two struck the left arm and torso, as the Artemis enhanced short range missiles savaged the 50-ton 'Mech. As the smoke cleared, the Crab's chest had been laid bare. With a bit of luck, he could core it with the next salvo.

Weddle could hear the detonations of multiple warheads behind him, as Walther targeted the Night Hawk. It was followed a fraction of a second later by the familiar sound of another war machine crashing to the ground, as the target identifier for the 'Hawk disappeared from his scope.

Atop the ridge, Walther cracked a smile in the sweltering cockpit of his Archer. Then suddenly without warning, a trio of lasers struck him full in the back. "Left Rear Torso: Critical." Armor melted from both arms, as he tracked his torso violently left. The Spector!

"Walthers here, I've got a hostile on the ridge. You're on your own Captain."

-

The two titans smashed together with devastating force, the impact ripping structure from the Battlemaster's left arm and buckling armor plates on the chest of the Pillager. Both 'Mechs went down, disappearing under a massive cloud of dirt and stone.

It degenerated into a visceral, animalistic brawl as both assault 'Mechs brutishly wailed on each other. The Colonel's powerful hand ripped the left arm clean off the Pillager, but the Pillager was far from done. The stump of its now handless right arm sailed just above the Colonel's cockpit, connecting brutally with the command console just above him. There was a horrific rending of armor and glassteel as the canopy exploded, showering him with fragments, followed by a rush of fresh air as the entire top of the Battlemaster's head was sheared off.

The Colonel, now holding the severed arm of the Pillager, drove it deep into the enemy 'Mech's right torso. The 100-ton 'Mech shuddered briefly as the Colonel drove it in further, twisting it. Then, its right torso exploded outward as its own severed limb caused the powerful Gauss rifle capacitors to catastrophically discharge.

The Colonel's Battlemaster was thrown clear by the force of the explosion, landing heavily on its back, taking even more damage as it did so. Dazed, the Colonel called out, "Lagemann! Lagemann! Status! Lagemann! ******! Lagemann!"

But there was only silence and the whistle of the wind through the shattered glassteel of the command console.

-

Chapter 14

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Hamilton howled in fury from the cockpit of his 90-ton Highlander as he saw the Colonel's Battlemaster go down. It was time to finish this. The Colonel was down, and Captain Weddle's hands were too full to take command of the situation. He flipped his Hector VII com system over to the command frequency.

"Walther. Hold still. You take care of the Captain, I'll take care you. Southers, keep that Knight and Striker away from the Colonel! I'll be down to mop up in a second."

The Highlander was designed to be a standalone strongpoint. All the defense any installation or facility would require packed into 90-tons of glorious Star League engineering.

He tracked his torso left, his reticle zeroing in on the sleek 35-ton Spector that was harassing Walther, before pressing the firing stub. Wasn't that the one Sigil had been blathering on about?

Another deadly high velocity nickel-iron slug vomited forth from the M-7, as the Holly 20 rack sent a rain of missiles arcing towards the light 'Mech.

The Spector never even saw them coming. The slug buried itself deep in it's left torso seconds before the entire 'Mech was blanketed in explosions from his long range missiles. When the smoke finally cleared, the Spector was down, its left torso gone, the corresponding arm lying smoking on the ground next to it.

Meh. He hadn't damaged it too badly. Sigil ought to appreciate that.

"Spector's down. Heading your way, Southers."

He fired the heavy HildCo jump jets, leaping over the ridge he had been partially concealed behind since the beginning of the engagement. He landed, storming down the ridge towards the few 'Mechs still left in the fight.

-

As hard as it was to do, Walther swung his torso back around, ignoring the 35-ton 'Mech attacking the rear of his Archer, just as Lt. Hamilton had ordered. The only comforting fact what that his new -5R was equipped with CASE, so if it managed to set off his ammo, he would, at least, likely survive.

Weddle's T-bolt split between the two attacking Crabs, nailing the one to his left as he passed between them. Seeing the damage, he followed up on the Captain's strike with his own dual FarFires. Missiles burst across the 50-ton Crab, his Victory Nickel drilling into its right torso, but it hadn't been enough.

"Heat Warning: Ammunition Explosion Possible," flashed in red across his HUD. He'd been pushing the Archer dangerously hard. But could he really afford to stop now?

As he passed between the two Crabs, Capt. Weddle fired his jump jets, leaping almost laterally, as he sought to use one of the Crabs to block the other's line of sight. Another four heavy lasers lanced out towards his heavily damaged Thunderbolt, the first melting the last of the remaining armor from his chest. Then the klaxon went off again, as two more lasers speared his right left and left torso. "Right Leg: Critical. Right Leg Structure: 33%. Left Torso: Critical. Left Torso: Heat Sink Destroyed."

He landed hard, his right foot gone, and now most of the structure as well. Still, he managed to snap off another alpha strike. A blister of medium lasers drilled into the Crab, but the 'Mech refused to go down. His Sunbeam went high, thrown off by his landing, but the dual six racks proved true. There were holes all over the Crab, and the short ranged missiles exploited them. Coolant erupted from its left torso, as its right arm threw out sparks betraying the fact that the actuators and the heavy laser housed there had been destroyed by the warheads. Steam poured from a hole in its chest, a tell tale sign of damaged engine shielding, but it still remained upright on its back canted legs.

He was out of options. His right leg was barely attached, and it was almost a certainty jumping, or even just running, would just snap it off entirely. He shuffled backwards a few steps. He only had one trick left in his bag. "Walther! The other Crab's all yours! I'm gonna cook this sonuvabitch alive!"

He flipped the ammo selector to "Inferno." It was already bleeding out heat from the engine hit, this would finish it. All four 'Mechs fired simultaneously.

The screaming of multiple alarms was suddenly cut off as Weddle found himself rocketing through the air in his ejection seat. Below him, the entire left side of his Thunderbolt blew out, the right leg evaporating beneath it from the concentrated energy fire. It spun crazily around, before auguring into the ground, barely recognizable any longer as the beloved 'Mech he had been piloting only seconds before.

The Crab lit up like a roman candle. Covered in incendiary gel, it glowed a superheated white. That anything living thing could possibly withstand the heat from the multiple Inferno rounds was unthinkable, and the 'Mech simply toppled backwards, continuing to burn with unabated hellish fury.

LRMs from the ridgeline arced down on the other Crab, grouping heavily on its right leg. A single Victory Alloy lanced through the smoke, drilling into the same leg, as the 50-ton 'Mech turned, looking up at the Archer holding the ridge.

A string of epithets flew from Walther's parched mouth as he smashed the override in futility. "Heat Level Exceeded. Shutting down."

-

Southers had the Atlas wide open, the 100-ton 'Mech topped out at just at hair under 55 kph. He thundered across the battlefield, charging directly towards the 75-ton Black Knight, as it struggled back to its feet. His Hellion-Vs struck its right arm and left leg, as a quartet of SRMs exploded across it, leaving its chest dangerously vulnerable. Then his Deathgiver roared again, sending another massive torrent of slugs tearing deep into the left side of its torso.

The massive firepower of the Atlas was simply too much, as the Knight was knocked backwards even as it tried in vain to gain its feet, its PPC and large lasers shooting high into the sky as it fell. It lay sprawled on its back, arms waving wildy as it began to try to get back up yet again.

Southers never slowed. He charged into the prone 'Mech, viciously driving his thickly armored foot into the already damaged left torso. His foot continued all the way through the left side of its chest, trashing the 'Mechs entire left side, and sending its severed arm cartwheeling away across the ground.

Bending over the decimated 'Mech, he unleashed his aptly named Deathgiver one last time. The effect was catastrophic. The entire center of the 'Mech simply disintegrated under the relentless stream of explosive shells. When he finally let off the trigger, all that remained were the severed limbs and the helmed head.

Rage suddenly welled up from deep inside of him, a primeval roar bursting from his lips as he lifted his leg, crushing the head of the dead Knight under his monstrous foot. Still, he pressed down, grinding it harder, driving it deeper until it all but disappeared into the ground.

The grinning death's head of the Atlas turned to its right, looking for its next victim.

-

Hamilton glanced to his left. The sole remaining Crab was advancing up the slope towards Walther's Archer. He watched for a couple long seconds. The Archer wasn't moving. The Crab sent its pair of large lasers streaking up the hill, followed by its medium laser. All three hit the Archer, which simply toppled stiffly over backwards, disappearing from sight behind the ridgeline.

Hamilton starting swearing, swerving quickly off to his left. Walther must have finally overheated. He risked a look down the hill, and saw Southers charging down the Black Knight which was already on its knees. The only other 'Mech left standing down there was the Striker, which like him, was still untouched.

He let fly with his M-7 first. The solid metal slug struck the Crab's damaged right leg with bone breaking force, totally destroying the limb. As it collapsed face first to the ground, he pelted it with his Holly LRM 20. A full flight of 20 LRMs exploded all across its weak rear armor. The 50-ton 'Mech suddenly froze up, no longer flailing across the ground trying to rise.

Gryo hit. Hamilton grinned. Kerensky, I'm was good!

He returned to his original heading, sending the 90-ton 'Mech onto the carnage filled plains. As his eyes swept across the incredible devastation, he watched on as Southers ruthlessly crushed the head of the Black Knight under his foot.

Flipping his comlink over to an open frequency, he called out across the battlefield. "Shut down or die."

The Striker turned its head away from the gruesome scene of the head crushing Atlas, looking towards the approaching Highlander. It triggered everything it had. The Pontiac light autocannon had the honor of dealing the first damage taken by the Highlander, as it pockmarked its left leg. The Hellstar the second, as it slammed into his right torso, and the Defiance heavy the third, as it struck the opposite torso. A trio of Hellion mediums completed the Strikers attack, scorching his right arm and leg, and hitting his left torso again.

The Highlander paused, looking down at its pockmarked left leg as if in disbelief. It slowly looked back up, fixing the Striker with palpable rage as the massive HildCo jump jets filled the air with fire.

The Striker tried to wheel backwards, but it was already too late. 90-ton of military might came soaring through the air towards him, crashing down upon him with terrible vengeance.

The Highlander's right leg crushed the head of the Striker like a cheap beer can. Hamilton rode it down, coming to stop still standing on the back of the now headless 'Mech. He dropped his M-7 point blank over the center rear and fired a shot. Pinned under the 90-ton war machine, the 'Mech spasmed once, then went still, coolant leaking like gore from a huge crater in its back.

"That's for scratching the armor."

He checked his StarLight LX-1. Only three contacts remained. Walther's Archer, which had just reappeared on the ridge, Souther's Atlas and himself.

He switched the Hector VII over to the command frequency. "This is Lt. Hamilton assuming operational command. Whirly-Two, we need immediate medivac. The Colonel is down. So is Lagemann, Weddle and Sigil. There are also likely survivors among the opposition too, so be prepared. Whirly-One, keep an eye on the target. I don't want any more surprises. Captain McMillan, bring the infantry up and link up with me. We'll move on the base proper once assembled. Captain Salt, prepare for departure. Once the wounded are aboard, I want you to move the Snowmane to the landing platform at the target. We'll be in control of it by the time you get there. Lt. Isamu and Corporal Damaad, take the armor and make best possible speed to the target area. Southers, maintain security here. If anything moves, shoot it. Walther, you're with me. Over."

-

Chapter 15

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Sigil wept as he came up and around the side of the bluff, coming almost full circle to where he'd been stationed on the ridge at the start of the battle. The Spector was down, smoke billowing from it chest, its arm severed off. His baby was hurt.

He ran towards it, his vision blurred by the tears pouring from his eyes. As he got closer, he realized the damage wasn't at severe as he feared. The left torso had been destroyed, but overall, it was certainly still salvageable.

The Spector was all smooth lines and curves, unlike anything he had ever piloted. The Grasshopper, Clint, the Assassin, they were are harsh edges and flat surfaces. How they had shaped the Spector's Starshield Light armor into such graceful shapes was, in of itself, an amazing feat of engineering. Of course, he'd always favored the old out-of-production Star League models, but this… This was unbelievable.

It was like a dream. Was he dreaming? Maybe he'd been killed in the battle, and this was just his own private version of heaven. The battlefield obscured behind the bluff, he glanced around at the unspoiled pastoral beauty of Talisker nodding in deep satisfaction, and pausing to take in a deep breath of it's pure air.

Everything had a kind of halo around it, and yet, at the same time, an incredible clarity. Somewhere deep inside, he realized he was in some kind shock, but the thought was gone as quickly as it came.

His eyes suddenly widened, as his mouth repeatedly opened and closed. He shook his head, looking down and blinking furiously as he wiped away the tears. It couldn't be. He looked back up.

Sitting a few dozen meters away from the Spector was a fiery haired goddess. She turned her head as he approached, fixing him with a stunning pair of emerald eyes. She was as full of smooth curves as the Spector she piloted.

She only grew in beauty as he grew closer, until he was convinced he was climbing the stairway to heaven. She stood as he came up next to her, their eyes having never lost contact, and the air between them was so charged it would have made a PPC blush.

And then they were in each other's arms, without ever a word spoken. The world melted away as they came together, an oasis of bliss on a hellish battlefield.

-

Hot, bitter tears rolled down Corporal Southers' cheeks as he punched the glassteel canopy of his Atlas in frustration. Below him lie the Colonel's partly decapitated Battlemaster. And it was all his fault.

He'd fallen, like some wet behind the ears greenhorn on his first day out of the academy. The shame consumed him, his face flush with anguish. The Colonel had ordered him to follow him over the ridge.

And what had he done?

The first time he took fire, he toppled over, leaving the Colonel to advance down the hill alone. Directly into a full lance of assault 'Mechs.

He punched the side the cockpit again, bloodying his hand even further. To make matters even worse, he piloted the heaviest 'Mech in the unit.

And what had he done?

Dropped a 75-ton Black Knight. That was all. Even the crazy 'Tech had destroyed almost twice that when he'd set off the ammo in the Longbow, destroying the Wyvern in the process. And adding insult to injury, he'd done it all in a 'Mech that weighed less than half of his own!

His self-assessment was brutal. So, I pilot the heaviest 'Mech in the unit, do the least damage, and was the only one to be knocked down by weapons fire.

He looked out across the pillars of smoke rising from destroyed 'Mech after destroyed 'Mech, salty tears still rolling down his cheeks. What was he doing here? He couldn't cut it. Not in this unit. Why had the Colonel even hired him?

He wasn't the pilot that Sigil was, not the gunner Hamilton was, or the tactician Weddle was. He wasn't an experienced combat veteran like Walther or Isamu, or some hot shot top of the class Academy grad like Damaad.

He was just a guy who did his best to follow orders. And he was a failure even at that. In the end, the Colonel had advanced alone into the mouth of the grizzly. And paid the price.

-

Captain McMillain's small phalanx of hovercraft tore across the plains of the Talisker at well over 100 kph. He was in the lead Drillson, which served as his command vehicle, a pair of Maxim heavy hover transports on either side of him filled with his troops.

As they came around one of the bluffs, the battlefield suddenly revealed itself. It looked like a charnel house with 'Mechs strewn everywhere. Heavy smoke drifted across in patches, in other places long columns of it rose high into the sky as some of the downed units continued to burn. The occasional secondary explosion of ordinance punctuated the devastation.

The Captain turned the Cyclops 1 communications system to Lt. Hamilton's private frequency. "Hamilton, this is McMillan. Good work. I'm assuming command. I'm moving to secure the battlefield, now. Take Walther and Southers and establish a skirmish line on the far western edge."

Hamilton's Highlander motioned towards the Archer and Atlas, and the three surviving 'Mechs started moving to the west. "Acknowledged, Captain. Moving out."

McMillan flipped over to the command frequency. "I'm popping smoke by the Colonel's Battlemaster. Whirly-two is inbound. I want every pilot accounted for, starting with ours! Secure all prisoners and bring them to my position. Move it, people, I want this done fast! We still need to move on the base itself. Don't worry there's still some fun left for us, I'm sure."

McMillan's Drillson screamed to a stop by the downed Battlemaster. He hopped out, pulling the pin on a smoke grenade, and tossing it. He could already hear the rotors of Whirly-Two. He headed straight towards what was left of the Battlemaster's head.

He sucked his breath in. The entire top half had been sheared away, and if he hadn't known there'd been a command console, there was no sign left of one now. The canopy had been shattered, and he could already see the blood splashed across it as he approached. He quickly leapt up the side, looking in.

The Colonel was still strapped into his five point harness unconscious and hanging awkwardly as the 'Mech lay on its side. Massive lacerations covered his face, arms and legs. Blood was pooled thickly along the side of cockpit, and still dripping from his right arm. His left leg was concealed by the wreckage of the cockpit, where the entire side of the head had been staved in, and he couldn't even tell if the Colonel's leg was still attached. He wasn't dead, at least not yet, though he wasn't far from it.

"Whirly-Two. We're gonna need the heavy lascutters and a backboard. You're gonna have to cut him out. The Colonel's unconscious. Massive blood loss, multiple blunt trauma lacerations, numerous abrasions, likley crush injuries as well."

McMillan glanced up where the command console had once been. "No sign of Lt. Lagemann. Presumed KIA."

Dust and debris washed over him as Whirly-Two landed nearby, the men disembarking and running towards the mangled cockpit of the Battlemaster.

McMillan turned, heading for the Pillager which had fallen only a few scant meters from was he was. He pulled the external lever for the emergency canopy release, the explosive bolts firing, blasting the canopy clear of the 100-ton assault 'Mech.

Inside was a man, likely in his 30's, his head slowly coming up at the sound of the canopy being blasted free. He was heavily bruised, obviously concussed, but very much still alive. McMillan whipped out his emergency tool, slicing through the harness that strapped him into the command couch, his hands quickly searching him for any weapons. Finding none, he hooked one arm around the man's waist, pulling him roughly out of his seat, and dragging him clear of the cockpit. Once clear, he released him, shoving him into the ground. Seconds later, the man lie moaning softly on the ground, his hands cuffed behind him.

"Pillager pilot alive and in custody. Assemble all prisoners on my position."

As he looked up, three men with heavy lascutters began cutting sections of the Battlemaster's head away as they worked to free the Colonel.

"Kinsey, here. I've got the Wyvern pilot. No sign of the Sigil, though, sir. The canopy of his Assassin is open, but he's not in there, sir. Searching the area now."

"Leisster. Got one of the Night Hawk pilots, sir. The other 'Hawk was cored, pilots dead. Moving to the Lancelot."

"Franklin. Black Knight's head is crushed, sir. So is the Strikers. And there's nothing left of the Longbow. It's clear over here, sir."

"Whinnel here. Got the Excalibur pilot, sir. He's unconscious. Looks like Weddle ejected from the Thunderbolt, but it's hard to be sure, sir, it's so badly damaged. Commencing search now."

McMillan scanned the carnage, taking out his rangefiner binoculars. "Franklin. Head up the bluff towards that downed Crab."

Walthers interrupted their conversation. "I saw Captain Weddle punch out. Check north of where his T-bolt went down. Also, on the back side of the ridge that Crab is on, is the Spector Lt. Hamilton took down."

McMillan broke back in. "You copy that, Franklin? Two hostiles up there, once you've checked the Crab proceed over the ridge and check on that Spector."

"Ackowledged, Captain. Moving out now."

Whinnel reported back in, "Found Captain Weddle, sir. Compound fracture of the tibia, type II concussion, multiple abrasions. But he's awake and talking. Transporting him to Whirly-Two for immediate medivac."

"Leisster. One of the Crab pilots is DOA, cooked to death, and the Lancelot pilot is now in custody, sir."

"Kinsey. Still no sign of Sigil, sir. Expanding the search area."

"Franklin. I've got the Crab pilot. He's in good shape, moving over the ridge now to check the Spector."

McMillan watched as the other prisoners were brought on. They were a lined up prone on the ground, six in all. "Gag 'em all except this one." McMillan kicked the Pillager pilot, indicating which one to leave. "And get me Whinnel. I want this one juiced up. I plan on having a pleasant little conversation with the Demi-Precentor here."

"Uh, Captain McMillan? Franklin here. I've got a situation. Private Sigil is engaged in… umm… relations with the Spector pilot, sir."

McMillan's eyes snapped open in shock. "What!? Repeat, that Franklin!"

"Uh… Private Sigil and the Spector pilot, sir. They are in a compromising position, sir. It, uh… appears to be consensual. Sir."

McMillan broke like thunder. "And what are you doing, Franklin, WATCHING!? Kerensky, solider! Break it up and bring 'em in! NOW! ON THE DOUBLE!"

McMillan scowled, shaking his head. Just what he needed to deal with. Rubbing his temples, he turned to Whinnel. "Prep the Demi-Precentor for interrogation."

"Yes, sir," Whinnel responded as he drew out a large syringe from his medical kit.

-

McMillan jerked the Demi-Precentor to his feet. "Hold 'em up, Whinnel. Kinsey, record this. Leisster, flip the other prisoners over so they can watch."

McMillan stepped back a few paces, fixing the prisoner with a pitiless glare. "Name, and rank."

The prisoner lifted his head, his eyes trying to focus on McMillan. "… Demi-, Demi-Precentor… IV-Alpha … Ryo… Ryo Chevrue."

"Who do you work for?"

"…ComStar. Hyperpulse Generator… Operations."

"Why are you here?"

"We operate…. a mobile HPG station… here."

"How many additional forces are under your command?"

"… you… attacked us… ComStar is a …. neutral organization… Your House will be… placed under Interdiction… for your actions… here."

"Under whose orders are you raiding the Skye March?"

"ComStar… is… dedicated to peace."

McMillan lunged forward, viciously driving his fist into the prisoner's solar-plexus.

Chevrue doubled over, collapsing to the ground, curling up as he moaned in pain.

McMillain shouted, "WHOSE ORDERS! WHOSE GIVING THE ORDERS!" There was a loud cracking sound as McMillan drove his hardened combat boot into the Demi-Precentor's ribs.

Whipping out his service revolver, he crouched down next to the crumpled form of the Demi-Precentor, whispering. "This is your final chance. I want to know why you are attacking the Skye March. You have ten seconds, Demi-Precentor, before you go to meet your Blessed Founder."

Chevrue moaned pitifully, rolling over to face his interrogator. "ComStar… is… dedicated… to… peace."

A single shot rang out, blood spilling from the back of the Demi-Precentor's head.

McMillan stood back up, surveying the remaining five prisoners. "Any of you want to talk, or would you rather follow the Demi-Precentor to hell." He brutally kicked the lifeless body.

He started on his left. Putting a single bullet through the head of two prisoners before there was a strangled cry from one on them, muffled by the heavy gag. It was the Spector pilot.

There was a flash off to his right, but he rolled quickly away, his finger twitching on the trigger as he came up in a crouch facing his attacker. Private Sigil. He should have guessed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, solider!?"

Sigil's hand twitched, and Captain McMillan saw the Sternsacht holstered against his leg. "Don't even think about it, lover boy. Leisster! Restrain the Private, he just became unfit for duty."

With a few, deft, efficient motions, Sigil found himself disarmed and eating dirt. It was followed by the sharp click of handcuffs snapping around his wrists. Leisster kept his knee in his back, pinning him to the ground.

McMillan dusted himself off, returning to his feet, his revolver still drawn. "Ungag the woman. Let's see if she has anything useful to say."

McMillan turned his deathly gaze on her. "Name and rank."

Sigil wrenched his head to side, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, watching with macabre fascination.

"Adept III-Alpha Julianna Rose."

"How many additional forces are there?"

"A company of motorized infantry at the base. Along with an equal number of technicians and support personnel."

Her eyes looked away, wide and full of fear, as she glanced down at Sigil, still pinned to the ground, then she added, "And three additional Level II's off planet."

McMillian glanced over at the two remaining prisoners, still bound and gagged on the ground. "You two just became unnecessary." Two more shots rang out over the battlefield, then he turned back to her.

"When are they scheduled to return?"

"Units assigned a mission are generally off planet for approximately three months, which would put them back here as soon as two weeks from now."

McMillan nodded. "And whose issuing the orders?"

"Demi-Precentor Ryo Chevrue was in command of the Level II I was assigned too."

McMillan narrowed his eyes. "Not good enough."

Sigil's eyed widened in terror, as a strangled cry escaped his lips. "McMillain! You heartless bastard! You can't do this! The battle's over! You cold blooded killer!"

McMillain turned looking down at Sigil. "Private, this is a Delta Protocol mission. We will maintain absolute 100% OpSec. There will be no witnesses. And now that I think about it, Private, I'm not sure YOU can maintain OpSec. You have been caught fraternizing with the enemy. Not to mention, disobeying a direct order from the Colonel."

McMillan's eyes tightened, and Sigil felt a cold shiver work its way up his spine.

Leisster interupped. "Captain McMillan, both the Colonel and Captain Weddle are aboard Whirly-Two, sir. And Whirly-One reports enemy activity at the base, sir."

As if to punctuate his report, the low rumble of a distant explosion rolled across the battlefield, as a pillar of smoke began to rise from the horizon.

"Lessiter, load up the lover boy here, and his girlfriend. Get 'em aboard Whirly-Two for evac back to the Snowmane. And keep 'em locked up. Both of them, at all times."

He turned his personal comlink back on. "Lt. Hamilton, advance on the base. Likely a reinforced motorized company on site. The Colonel and the Captain are on the way back to the Snowmane, along with Sigil and the sole surviving prisoner. We're loading up now, we'll catch up with you."

He cast one last long glance down at Sigil, then turned to his assembled men. "Saddle back up. I promised you boys some fun. And I always keep my promises."

-

Chapter 16

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Captain Salt was waiting on the boarding ramp of the Snowmane as Whirly-Two landed nearby. As soon as the rails hit the ground, two of McMillan's men jumped out, grabbing the handles of a bright yellow backboard as it slid out of the VTOL.

They came hustling up the ramp towards her. The Colonel was unconscious and strapped down. He was dangerously pale from blood loss, and there were deep lacerations on his face and limbs. Asssuming he survived there would definitely be scarring. Then again, a good Colonel probably ought to have a few scars. It added character. And the Colonel had surprised quite a few potential employers with his youthful appearance.

Captain Weddle came next, also strapped to a backboard. He must have broken his right leg. It had already been set, splinted, and covered with an inflatable cast. His eyes were heavily glazed, probably from a massive dose of painkillers, but all considered, he looked like he'd come through it with a limp at worst to show for it.

Next out was a red haired girl wearing the cooling vest and briefs of a MechWarrior. She was gagged, and her arms were cuffed behind her back. Obviously a prisoner. She didn't look much worse for the wear, though. The soldier escorting her turned to Salt saying, "Captain Salt, we need someone to lead us to the detention facilities. We've also got one more." He thumbed his hand over his shoulder.

Salt turned to her communications officer. "Sanchez, show the good solider here the way to the holding cell. Put them both in there." Salt turned back towards the VTOL.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched Sigil shoved roughly out of the VTOL, falling to the ground as he tried to land standing. He was cuffed and gagged, just like the female prisoner. One of the soldiers yanked him to his feet, giving him another push as they started up the ramp.

She looked at the soldier escorting him, taking in his name and rank. "Lt. Leisster, what's going on here?"

He paused by her, snorting. "Failure to obey orders, carnal knowledge, misbehavior before the enemy, assaulting a superior commissioned officer, disrespect toward a superior commissioned officer, basically you name it, and Loverboy there did it."

Sigil struggled against his gag, but was unable to get anything intelligible out.

"Who charged him?"

Leisster gave Sigil another shove, pushing him up the ramp. "Captain McMillan. He's the acting commander since both the CO and XO are incapacitated."

Captain McMillan. She pursed her lips. The Good Captain McMillan.

She activated her personal comlink. "The Colonel and Captain Weddle are aboard. Prepare for immediate departure. Whirly-Two, you're clear to return."

-

Occasionally, life gives you everything you want. And Captain Ernie McMillian, reflected, today was one of those days. Lt. Isamu's Hatchetman and Corporal Damaad's Archer had just arrived. And while that was cause enough to rejoice, the two LRM carriers that trundled along behind them were really what put a smile on his face.

They were the next best thing to artillery, and arguably in this case, even better. He latched down the command frequency, laying out his plan to assault the base.

"Listen up people. We're going to encircle the target, conduct a slow steady advance, coalescing on the launch pad. We're splitting up into eight platoons plus my Drillson, the LRM carriers, and five Battlemechs. Each platoon will partner with a heavy unit, and deploy at either a cardinal or ordinal point. Once we're all assembled, I will the give the order to advance. The Maxims will serve as a tactical reserve. I'm sending out the exact assignments and rally points now. This will be a saturation operation. Do not attempt to engage specific targets unless you are taking direct fire. I want salvos of LRMs approximately every 30 meters starting at the edge of the base as going further in as you advance. Precise area assignments are shown on the map. Over."

As his men began forming up into platoons, he switched over to Whirly-One's frequency. "SitRep, Whirly-One."

"Nothing new. They're still digging themselves in, Captain. Two MBTs, not sure which model. A pair of hovertanks, don't know what kind, and four Hover APCs. There is heavy smoke from the mobile HPG they blew up earlier, so it's hard to get a visual. I've been using mostly thermal scanning, sir. Over."

McMillan climbed back in his 50-ton Drillson. He would be taking the northwestern approach, along with Alpha platoon. Corporal Southers and Bravo platoon would be to his right, and Echo platoon, supported by one of the LRM carriers off to his left. There would be a minimum of three overlapping fields of fire at any given point around the entire base.

Seven heavily armed soldiers grabbed various hand and foot holds along the outside of his Drillson, as McMillan spun up the fans. Moments later he was cruising across the plains to his rally point. All across the field, other units were doing the same.

As he approached his rally point, the Cyclops 1 sparked to life. "This is Demi-Precentor II-Kappa Ronald Schmidt, commanding officer of this base. I would like to discuss terms of surrender."

McMillan slide slipped his Drillon into position. "This is Captain Ernie McMillan, acting Commander of the 69th. There are no terms to discuss. I will only accept your complete and unconditional surrender. Over."

There was a long pregnant pause. "We claim the right of surrender under Article III of the Ares Conventions."

McMillan responded with a chuckle. "ComStar is not a signatory on the Ares Conventions, therefore the covenants and protections provided therein, do not apply to you. Over."

He glanced down at the Drillson's Evil Eye T&T system. It was as good, and in most cases, better than the targeting and tracking system found in BattleMechs. A full 360 degree scanning arc coupled with a direct connection to the turret mounted Cyclops Eye large laser made it a dangerous and accurate machine.

All of his units were now only seconds away from being in position.

"You have thirty seconds to surrender unconditionally, Demi-Precentor, and in about 90 seconds, there will no longer be a base for you to surrender. Over."

The Demi-Precentor's angry voice replied, "You offer us no choice, Commander!"

McMillan grinned. "Sure I do, Ronnie. You can die quietly with dignity, or you can die screaming in pain. And you only have ten seconds left. I suggest you start makin nice with 'ol Jerrie Blake."

McMillan grinned. It was going to be one helluva turkey shoot. "Commence fire. Begin advance." His Drillson shuttered as he added his Crossbow LRM-10 to the jaw dropping barrage of missiles erupting from points all around the base.

The opening salvo alone sent almost 250 long ranged missiles arcing down on the base, blanketing it in explosions as his forces crept forward. A thunderous boom, followed by an enormous fireball signaled the destruction of the hydrogen fuels tanks, and moments later a staccato of explosions marked the death of the munitions dump.

For a long 60 seconds, the devastating barrage continued, as the assembled might of his force deluged the base with an unending rain of high explosives. The sky was choked with missile entrails, and column after column of smoke rose from the now eviscerated base.

It was actually quite a sight to behold. It reminded him of an old saying from Terra. Shock and Awe. Almost 1,500 missiles had reduced the base to little more than a smoking crater. Every structure had been reduced to rubble, and judging from the columns of thick, black greasy smoke rising, so had all of the vehicles.

"Cease fire. Advance full. Engage targets of opportunity. Time to mop up, boys. Delta Protocol. Over."

He switched over to the DropShip's frequency next, as he watched his troops advance. "Captain Salt, I'm afraid you going to have to re-route. Put down as close to the battlefield as you can. I'm going to finish cleaning up here, then let's gets the salvage operations underway ASAP. I want to get off this forgotten pile of dirt. Have you gotten an update from Forrester? Over."

"Acknowledged. I'll put the Snowmane down at 34N 40' 50.12". Checking it with Forrester now. I'll let you know when I know something."

Sporadic machine gun fire caught his attention as his soldiers ruthlessly finished off the wounded and dying. In a way, it was a good thing the Colonel was down. He might not have approved of his tactics.

-

Captain Daniel Forrester watched from the bridge of the Blue Danube as both his own crew and Dawg's men grafted on the K-F booms they had scavenged from the space station. It was a delicate procedure. And definitely not one covered in the books. They clambered over the superstructure of the JumpShip tethered to the ship in their space suits, cutting away the damaged sections with lascutters and welding on the replacement booms.

It wasn't like he really had a choice in the matter. In fact, he counted himself lucky there were even booms to scavenge. Otherwise. Well, best not to dwell on that.

As it was, the space station had proven to be an absolute treasure trove of parts. And he'd made sure they'd stripped it clean. The obvious prize had been the ST-46 they'd found in the port side small craft bay, which was now sitting in his own small craft bay.

But the hidden treasure was the Lithium-Fusion batteries they'd been able to pull out. The space station had been a recharge point at some point in the far distant past, and had been equipped with a Lithium-Fusion battery in order to provide quick turnarounds for arriving JumpShips. The system was no longer functional to be sure, probably hadn't been for 200 years, but just the parts alone would be worth a fortune to the Great Houses and the few JumpShips they still had that featured them.

So, consequently, he'd pulled out all the cells which hadn't already either ruptured or been damaged, but even more importantly, all of the control and monitoring equipment. If it wasn't built into the hull of the space station, he had it pulled out. In some cases, he wasn't even sure what exactly he was taking, but it even appeared useful, it was now in his cargo hold.

He continued to watch as one of the teams continued welding a replacement boom into place. The fuel bunker had been a pleasant surprise as well. He certainly wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to top off, and Captain Salt would been even more pleased after making the burn to Talisker and back.

The sticking point was where they were going to jump too. And that was assuming the repairs worked. It was going to be a dicey proposition just deploying the JumpSail on the makeshift booms. Of course the Colonel, if he was back in command, would want to make his way back to Galatea. And he was willing to bet McMillan would want to jump to Ginestra.

Not that it mattered. There was only a single planet within 30 light years of Talisker that was in Steiner space. Phalan. So that was where they were going. Assuming they arrived alive, they could fight it out once they got there. With a damaged ship, there was just no way he was going to jump to an unoccupied star system.

-

Chapter 17

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

The Snowmane decended from the sky on pillars of flame, the intense exhaust creating a large crater underneath it as it settled to the ground on the fringe of the battlefield. The field was filled with broken 'Mechs strewn about like toys tossed carelessly away.

Salvage operations were already underway. One of the Archers was working with the Hatchetman, and the Atlas and the other Archer were also teamed up, both teams working to drag the 'Mech carcasses from where they had fallen to a central gathering point. Lt. Hamilton's Highlander slowly prowled the periphery keeping a watchful eye out for any unexpected arrivals.

Captain Salt strolled down the loading ramp of the Snowmane towards Captain McMillan's Drillson. He turned to her as she approached.

"Any word from Forrester?"

She nodded. "He's got teams out now welding salvaged K-F booms onto the Blue Danube. He won't know anything more until he tries to deploy the JumpSail. In the meantime, he's stripped the space station bare, including a ST-46 shuttlecraft they found. Should know something more in the next day or two." She shrugged. "I came out here to talk to you about the salvage work."

McMillan grinned. "Impressive isn't it? The Colonel's got exchange rights on all of this." He motioned across the field. "I'm guessing 40 million at least. That ought to put a smile on his face when he wakes up."

Salt crossed her arms over her chest. "You have some secret plan for transporting it all? Because if you do, now would be the time to tell me."

McMillan's eyebrows furrowed, as he glanced over at the Snowmane. "What do you mean?"

Now it was Salt's turn to smile. "Well, let's see. I've got 12 'Mech bays." She started ticking them off on her fingers. "The Colonel's Battlemaster, the Highlander, Atlas, two Archers, a Thunderbolt, Hatchetman and an Assassin. That only leaves four open bays."

McMillan looked annoyed. "I've got twice that many 'Mechs out there!"

Salt smiled sweetly at him. "Then I suggest you begin prioritizing, Captain. And let me be clear on this point. I have no intentions of risking my ship by making it dangerously overweight, or damaging it by trying to shoehorn in more 'Mechs then she was designed to handle. Oh, and one last thing, Captain. Private Sigil's Assassin has a prototype light fusion engine, and the Spector carries an AR-12 Sheathed Directional Beacon with a Guardian ECM Suite. I expect to see both of those on the Snowmane."

She turned, her hips swaying, as she returned to the Snowmane. He'd have to deal with it if he wanted to catch a ride off planet.

McMillan snarled at her back as she departed. He had taken a distaste to her back on Ginestra, when she had stuck her head, against his express wishes, into the 'Mech bay while they were unloading, causing a huge scene in the process. Not to mention disabling a couple of his soldiers.

There were some choice words to describe what she was.

-

True to her word, Captain Salt supervised the loading of the Snowmane. The Archers handled all the heavy lifting. The 70-ton machines were equipped with powerful and fully articulated hand actuators, making them perfect cargo handlers.

The Atlas and Highlander went in first under their own power. Then, the Colonel's Battlemaster, followed by the Pillager, and the headless Striker. The Excalibur and Lancelot were carried in next and secured with chains in their respective bays. Captain Weddle's Thunderbolt was loaded, also requiring heavy chains as both its right leg and entire left side had been destroyed.

The two Archers placed the first Night Hawk in its 'Mech bay, shoving it as far back as possible. The second Night Hawk followed, the Archers maneuvering it into place in front of the first. Then the chains came down, first securing the two 'Mechs together, then securing them to the bay itself. Weighing only 35-tons each, McMillan had thought it possible to fit two in a single bay. And since they were already both heavily damaged, it didn't have to be pretty. Nor did it have to be possible to deploy or even work on them in transit.

Captain Salt hadn't been pleased at the prospect, but as he had pointed out, each 'Mech cubicle was rated for up to 100 tons. Even with a pair of light 'Mechs in there, he wouldn't exceed the weight limit. She hadn't been happy, but she at least accepted it.

He had the Archers do a similar thing for the Assassin and Spector. Both 'Mechs were placed into a single 'Mech bay, chained together, and then secured. He couldn't help but note the irony, the 'Mech's tight embrace echoing that of their pilots on the battlefield only a couple days earlier. Not to mention the fact, they were both themselves also in chains at this very moment in the holding cell.

Only the Crab was left on the field of battle. And that he had dismembered and placed into the now mostly empty cargo hold of the Dropship. The Union only had a scant 74 tons of space in its cargo hold, but they'd been gone for so long now, that most of the stockpiled supplies had been used up. It was a messy operation, each segment having to be hoisted up, and man handled into place, but they got it done.

All that was left was Lt. Isamu's undamaged Hatchetman. As much as it pained him, he left the two LRM Carriers behind, placing the Hatchetman instead in their place. When push came to shove, the LRM carriers were cheap and easily replaced. Not a bad job.

McMillan took one last look out over the plains of Talisker. It was the gloaming. The sun had just set, but darkness had yet to drop her veil. It was a truly beautiful planet. One that ought to be repopulated. Then again, man had a way of ruthlessly destroying bucolic beauty, so perhaps it was best it remain unspoiled.

When ComStar returned they'd find nothing left standing and no one left alive.

-

Captain Forrest took a deep breathe. Realistically, there was only going to be one single shot at this. The Jump Sail was almost a full kilometer in diameter when fully deployed. Sure it was made of a high strength polymer, but since it had to be so large it was also incredibly thin. And consequently, easily damaged. If it got caught on anything as it was being unfurled, it would rip the thin fabric to shreds, likely rendering it useless, or turning the entire deployment into one huge tangled mess.

Kerensky! There was just way to many chances for disaster. There was also the main power conduit which took the energy collected by the solar sail and funneled it into the K-F drive. It had been damaged too. His crew had patched it as best they could, including replacing some of the inverters with ones taken from the space station. Who knew if those even still worked? At least were in one piece, though. They had to run temporary new power conduiting, again with scavenged and rebuilt materials.

Forrester grimaced. It seemed the entire ****** ship was held together with nothing but bailing wire and twine. And to think, she'd just been refurbished and gotten her annual, what, not six months ago? He shuddered to think of what condition she'd be in now, had she not been at 100% before that aerospace fighter had tried to ram her.

Well, no since putting it off any longer. McMillan said there'd likely be some new arrivals in a week or two. And they weren't going to be the friendly kind, either.

He sat back down in his captain's chair. "Initiate Jump Sail deployment."

-

Chapter 18

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Even from the holding cell, it was obvious the Snowmane was departing the planet. The ship shuddered as it heaved its way up into the sky, the vibration and roar of the huge interplanetary drive audible straight through the prison cell walls.

How long had it been, anyway? Time was a tricky thing when you're bound and gagged in a small room with nothing to do. If he counted meals, then three days. The guard Captain McMillan had assigned had finally removed his gag, and left it off this time, after the latest serving of unidentifiable meat product. He had done the same for Julianna who was chained to the opposite side of the cell as him.

In some ways, it had been easier when his gag was still in place. He'd spent countless hours gazing at Julianna's face, unable to say anything. He knew her every freckle, actually, that had come as a surprise. He hadn't seen them when they first met, they were quite pale and faded, but it's amazing what you notice after three days. And the longer he looked at her, the younger she appeared.

To make matters worse, they were both still wearing standard issue MechWarrior briefs, which left almost nothing to the imagination. So, they just looked at each other for hours, their minds as free to wander as their eyes, but with no real way of communicating.

But not anymore.

Sigil worked his jaw and lips for a few minutes, the muscles stiff and sore from the tightly bound, thick gag. He was still cuffed, hands behind his back, and chained to the wall, but this was at least a start.

And suddenly, he had no idea what to say. After a thousand imaginary conversations and the endless chats that had played through his mind, now that he could talk, they all just vanished. He looked away from her, blushing furiously. Why was he blushing now? He felt awkward, small, and silly.

In the end, it was Julianna who spoke first.

"I don't even know where I was born." Julianna looked away, embarrassed. "ComStar took me out of an orphanage somewhere when I was too young to really remember anything. At least that's what they told me. All I've ever known is the inside of ComStar compounds, and the only people I've ever met are all ComStar. You're the first person I've encountered who isn't in service to Our Blessed Founder."

Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. She flushed a bright pink, rolling her shoulders, but kept her eyes on Sigil, as she continued.

"I guess that's why I… you know… let you… umm… what we did. I just wanted a piece of something from outside, from the real world. A taste of the forbidden fruit. And the way you looked at me. No one has ever looked at me like that before. Like they, you know, wanted ME." She looked away, shaking her head.

Sigil watched as tears began to roll down her cheeks, finally finding the strength to speak.

"Oh… Uhh… I… I…," he swallowed thickly, once gain finding it nearly impossible to speak.

Julianna looked back up, her face streaked, her anguish plain to see. "It was stupid of me! I should have died alongside my lancemates. Instead, I betrayed them, betrayed ComStar, and for what? I've got no future now. I'm just a prisoner waiting to die."

She started sobbing uncontrollable.

Without thinking, Sigil came towards her, but the chains shackling him to wall would not permit him to get close, and he was left was his hand out stretched into the empty air between them.

"No, Julianna! That's not true! I won't let anything happen to you! It's not over! You're free! Free to live whatever kind of life you choose!"

Still wracked with sobs, Julianna choked out her next words. "Don't lie to me, Sigil! What are you going to do!? You're just a stupid prisoner like me! That Captain would have shot us both dead on the battlefield if he hadn't been distracted by the explosions from the base! We both know it!"

Sigil froze. She was right. She was actually right. He recalled that moment on the field. McMillan would have killed him if Lessiter hadn't interrupted him. The realization came as a terrible shock. McMillan would have killed him. McMillan would have shot him straight through the head just like the other five prisoners. And he wouldn't have blinked an eye, or even spared him a second thought.

Sigil's face twisted somewhere between anger and fear, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't know how Julianna, but somehow, I promise, I'll get us both of this mess alive."

-

All it took was single bad butt weld. As the Jump Sail deployed along the booms, one of the telescoping arms caught on a burr, causing it to jam as the other arms continued to extend. In seconds, the entire sail was dangerously canted and in danger of a catastrophic tear.

Captain Forrester watched on in horror, screaming at the crew. He slammed down the emergency override, stopping the deployment mid-way. "Full starboard thrust! NOW! Shut it down on my mark! Maybe we can shake it loose! Kerensky! Standby damage control team!"

The sail was already under visible stress, stretched taunt in some places, while it rippled listlessly in others. The Blue Danube groaned as the starboard thrusters fired, and she began to pick up momentum, turning as she did so.

It was going to come down to timing. Too much thrust and sail would rupture, too little and it wouldn't make any difference. "Standby port thrusters full. Cap starboard thrusters in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Mark! Port thrusters full!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed his orders.

As the port thrusters fired, the Blue Danube began straightening out and then starting sliding laterally through deep space. "Cut port thrusters in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Mark!"

"Re-initiating telescoping boom extension, in 3… 2… 1… Mark!"

Absolute silence fell, as everyone collectively held their breath, eyes fixed on the stuck K-F boom displayed on the primary viewscreen.

It started extending. An audible sigh of relief filled the bridge, but lasted only a second. A long thin incision began developing in the sail as it passed over the point where the boom had jammed.

Forrested bellowed, "By Stephen Amaris himself!" He slammed down the emergency override for the second time."

"Helmsman, straighten us out, and maintain constant minimum forward pressure on that sail. Damage Control, get your asses out there and see what the hell is happening on that forsaken boom! And I don't want a bunch of monkeys out there in the rigging! Send Stephenson out there. And have Jake and The Rat handle his safety lines."

He growled as he stalked around the bridge, spearing anyone who dared look at him with a petrifying gaze.

The sail was already damaged. Even if they got it cleared, its efficiency would be impaired. How badly was anyone's guess at this point. Which meant, best case, assuming they could even get a charge from it, the recharge time would be considerably longer.

And the clock was running. McMillan said to expect visitors any time after another six days. Even if everything was working perfectly, he estimated it would take six days to full recharge the K-F drive. Great. Living life on borrowed time.

-

Sigil leaned back against the walls of the holding cell, looking across at Juilanna Rose. "Ya, I graduated from Sanglamore, on the 'Tech track. My gunnery marks were so awful, they kicked me outta the 'Mech track. But as it turned out, I was one helluva engineer."

He managed a short laugh. "I was there with my brother James, of course he was training to be a MechWarrior. He was one helluva pilot, too. I least I got that much from him. Colonel Henley, he wasn't a Colonel then, Weddle and Hamilton were all there too, but they all graduated two years before me. Well, James was killed by the 5th Sword of Light during the War of '39."

Sigil looked off for a moment. Like all little brothers, he had idolized his big brother James. Had done his best to follow in his every footstep, including getting accepted to Sanglamore. He didn't often think about it, and as he recalled getting the communique, he eyes began to water.

Clearing his throat, he continued. "So anyway, the Colonel pulled some strings and got me transferred to the 3rd Lyran Guard in time for the assault on Vega."

He shrugged. "We took the planet, only to lose it a few months later. That was my first combat posting. Lucky for me, Henley somehow managed to convince his superiors to take me on as a MechWarrior and not a 'Tech. After the war, we all rotated out and the Colonel founded the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. I've seen action on Carbonis, Alshain, and now Talisker, since then."

Sigil grinned. "I'm actually a founding member of the unit. So that's why I'm not too worried. As soon as the Colonel's back in the saddle, I'll get this all cleared up. I swear."

Julianna actually managed a weak smile. "I was originally trained as a Hyperpulse Generator Operator. But my marks were so good, I got a transfer to the Sandhurst Royal Military College. After completing the assessment batteries, they determined I was suited to pilot BattleMechs. So, I did all of my training on Terra."

"I remember when I graduated, Primus Myndo Waterly came to speak at the ceremony. I was so proud. She was such an inspiration. She spoke about how the Inner Sphere was being torn apart from the inside by the once Great Houses and of the technological degeneration caused by centuries of unending and futile warring. How only ComStar had stayed true to the tenets of the Star League. Our Blessed Founder was the Minister of Communications before the Exodus. And his vision is what founded ComStar. And ComStar alone has been able to maintain the technological marvels of the Star League though all these years of war and strife. That without ComStar, the Inner Sphere would crumble into dust, leaving only isolated bands of savages trapped in utter despair on their planets."

Sigil watched as she became increasingly animated.

"She said that soon ComStar would unite the Inner Sphere once again, and lift humanity out of the darkness that had consumed it! And that we, the graduates of Sandhurst, would be the ones leading the charge! After she spoke, Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht himself handed us our diplomas. It was the happiest moment of my life."

Dreamy eyed, Julianna gushed on. "So I was assigned to the ComGuards. Did you know there are ComGuards stationed at every HPG in the entire Inner Sphere? And while I was at Sandhurst, the Precentor Martial himself, oversaw the revamping of the entire curriculum there, placing a heavy emphasis on combined-arms, and reorganizing how we structure our units. All of our structures are based on six, instead of the four used by the Houses. It's all multiples of six."

Sigil nodded, interjecting, "Ya, but how'd you end up in a Spector? You get to pick that yourself?"

"Oh." She blushed. "I'm actually a really good pilot. So when they saw my piloting marks, they assigned it to me. I really wanted an Exterminator."

Sigil's eyes widened. "An Exterminator!? You're kidding me, right? I thought they were all destroyed during the Succession Wars!?"

She giggled. "Well, it would just have been a -4D, kinda like my -5F Spector. You know, without the Null Signature System and the Chameleon Light Polarization Shield."

She stopped suddenly, looking sad. "I guess I don't really have a Spector anymore, now. Or a unit."

She bit her lip, looking away, as the tears returned.

-

McMillan strolled onto the bridge of the Snowmane. Captain Salt was lounging in her command chair. She swiveled it around as she heard someone approaching.

"Captain McMillan, how can I help you today?" She gave him a blatantly false smile.

"Spare me the pleasantries. I want the surveillance recordings from the holding cell."

Her smile disappeared as quickly as it came. She turned her chair around, her back to McMillan, winking at her communications officer. "Sanchez. Pull up the video feed for the holding cell."

Sanchez's fingers flew across the control surface in front of him, a series of surveillance cameras flickering quickly by as he cycled through them. "That's strange, Captain. There seems to be a problem with that feed. I'm not getting anything. I'll send Matthews down to check on it."

Salt turned back to McMillan, her thinly disguised smile back in place. "I'm sorry, Captain. There seems to be some kind of technical problem. I'm sure we'll have it sorted out soon."

McMillan's gaze bored into her. The veins on his neck pulsing as he clenched his jaw. "I'm sure you will, Captain. As I recall, you certainly didn't have any problems of this sort on Ginestra, now did you?"

Captain Salt glowered back at him. "No, I didn't. Makes you wonder doesn't it, Captain."

She swiveled her chair back around, ignoring him, as McMillan stormed loudly off the bridge.

-

Chapter 19

Talikser  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Colonel Jason Henley tossed in a dream riddled sleep. He was 15 again and back on Whittington in Johnny, his old AgroMech dreaming of becoming a MechWarrior. Johnny belched out thick plumes of smoke, as he popped in and out between the trees of his family's fruit orchards hunting imaginary Combine 'Mechs.

Except this time they weren't imaginary. Six 'Mechs trampled through the fields crushing carefully pruned tree after carefully pruned tree under their armored feet. Some stopped to rip the trees straight out of the ground, tossing them carelessly aside, as others incinerated them with their high powered lasers. In minutes, the entire orchard was either burning or just simply destroyed.

He throttled Johnny up, consumed with rage at the wanton destruction of the trees, charging recklessly at one of the armored goliaths with his rotary saw raised high above his head.

The armored beast seemed to just laugh at him as it turned its autocannon on his AgroMech. High explosive rounds ripped across Johnny, knocking him backwards. And before he knew it, he was lying on his back in a daze, Johhny in shreds around him.

He watched helplessly as the 'Mechs passed him by advancing on his ancestral home.

He screamed as they opened fire on it.

Then there was a flash, and he found himself on the observation deck of a JumpShip standing next to Colonel Sarah Lindon. His arm was outstretched, pointing to a star as he spoke to her.

"That's your star. Terra. The birthplace of humanity. A reminder of how far we've come, and the promise of a new golden age yet to come. It's what we are all fighting for really, if you can just stop and think about it."

As he turned to face her, she morphed into Kitten, their surroundings melting away, replaced by a hotel room on Thorin. She was whispering into his ear, "Jason? Shhh. Don't say anything. Just come back to bed, it's still early."

Then suddenly the wall of the hotel room was ripped away, as the huge hand of a Battlemech reached into their room, its hand actuators closing around him as a booming laugh filled his ears.

It began to squeeze.

And he was screaming once more.

-

Hearing the Colonel's scream, Captain Weddle turned his head, looking over at him. He himself was in traction for his shattered leg, and the heavy painkillers made him feel groggy and out of it. Still he was in a lot better shape than the Colonel.

The Colonel was basically in a medically induced coma. There had been evidence of brain injury, and the medic was afraid if the Colonel awoke it could cause permanent damage. That and he looked unsettlingly like Frankenstein with all the stitches crisscrossing his extremities, including a rather nasty one down the side of his face.

As the Colonel stopped screaming, Weddle turned back, staring once again up at the ceiling.

This sucked.

-

Master Sergeant Stephenson carefully negotiated his way up the K-F boom, his magnetic boots keeping him fairly well secured. There was also a safety line trailing out behind him in case things should go sour. Corporal Jake Rattherson was handling the line, keeping it taunt but not too taunt. There was always the danger of the line getting fouled around the boom or drifting off into the sail itself.

He slowly made his way up to the point where the salvaged boom had been welded onto the remnants of the original. He knelt to examine the join.

"Yep. Gotta bad double welded open single-v butt join. Nasty little burr, longitudinal and transverse cracks, looks like some angular distortion as well. Kerensky! Who did this join?! It better not have been one of ours! I dunno Captain. Gonna be a bear to fix. Checking on the sail now. Standby."

Stephenson slowly turned, facing out across the sail. "Jake, I'm gonna lean out over the sail to take a look at the tear. Keep the line tight. Feed it out a foot at a time. I don't want to drift into it. Stop feeding on my mark, and give me a little backpressure."

Stephenson crouched down on the boom, gripping it with one hand. Leaning over, he pulled forward against it, standing up as he did so, sending himself rotating radially against the side of the boom.

"Mark! Hold it steady, Jake! Ya. Must have caught on the burr when it was unfurling. Doesn't look to bad. With a little maneuvering, I can reach it from here. The tear extends parallel to the boom, so I should be able to work my way along it. Ok, gimme a little gentle pull back up."

Stephenson crouched back down along the top of the boom. "Ok, Captain, here's the situation. If we've got enough solar tape, I can patch the sail. Once I grind this burr off, you can finish deploying the sail. What I'm not sure about is the boom itself. The right thing to do would be to cut it off, trim the ends, and weld the entire mess back together. Since the sail's already partially deployed, I don't see how we could do that. The traverse crack worries me. Could be a sign of structural failure. I can do a patch job, but when you try to bring the sail back in, you might lose the whole boom, and the sail with it."

Captain Forrester looked unhappy, really unhappily. "Ok, Stephenson. Do the best you can. We'll deal with bringing the sail back in when the times come. Let me know when you're done, and I'll finish deploying the sail." He returned to pacing anxiously around the bridge.

"Yes, sir. Jake, I'm gonna need the laswelder, a grinder, and all the solar tape you can get your hands on."

-

Captain Varukka Salt was in her stateroom. She pulled up the surveillance recordings from the holding cell, and began shuttling through it.

Sigil was speaking. "I don't know how Julianna, but somehow, I promise, I'll get us both of this mess alive."

She shuttled further along skipping to where the prisoner was talking. "Did you know there are ComGuards stationed at every HPG in the entire Inner Sphere? And while I was at Sandhurst, the Precentor Martial himself oversaw the revamping of the entire curriculum there, placing a heavy emphasis on combined-arms, and reorganizing how we structure our units. All of our structures are based on six, instead of the four used by the Houses. It's all multiples of six."

Salt raised her eyebrows. Interesting. She leaned in closer, as she shuttled further along.

Julianna was speaking again. "Oh, the Guardian ECM system? It's got several modes. It can act like a broad band jamming device, or you can try and target a specific 'Mech. When it's in broad band mode, it jams stuff like fire control systems, missile guidance systems, and blocks active scanning attempts. But the real fun is tuning it against a target. That's what I did to the Archer. I created a ghost target so his sensors thought they knew where I was, but in reality I was somewhere else entirely. That's how I got behind him like that. The thing is, though, when you're using it like it, it only works against one target. That's how the Highlander was still able to target me."

Salt skipped ahead even further.

"The first real action I saw was on Freedom, where we attacked the Water Pure Industries complex. There really wasn't much there. Just a garrison force made up mostly of infantry and armor and just a few BattleMechs. I scrapped a couple Scorpion light tanks and a Goblin. It was a hit-and-run operation. We shot up the factory, trashed the garrison, then left. I don't think we were even on planet for three days before we left. They were all kinda like that. Real quick. Get in fast, hit the target, then get out just as quick. We were under orders to avoid any prolonged engagement. My Spector was perfect for it. Talk about getting in and out fast. She couldn't be beat. That and I'd jam their communications so they couldn't call for reinforcements."

Captain Salt leaned back in her chair. She was talking. A lot. No wonder McMillan wanted the recordings. But why? ComStar was a notoriously secretive organization. Everyone knew that. Their shroud of secrecy was all but impossible to penetrate. In fact, she couldn't think of single person who'd ever even seen the inside of one of the compounds. And here this girl was spilling her guts.

She didn't like it.

-

Julianna Rose watched Sigil sleep. Alone with her mind, she took time to reflect. Why? Why had she got involved with him? She could have taken him prisoner, or even killed him, when she first saw him approaching her fallen Spector. They had still held the upper hand at that point in the battle.

She had known when she saw him that he was the Assassin pilot. She wasn't sure exactly how, but she just knew it. And the look of pure wonder in his eyes. Like he was looking straight at paradise.

Then his eyes had fallen on her. But his look never changed. He altered his course, and walked straight up her. She could still recall even the minutest detail of the encounter. The Sternsacht and stimpik strapped to his thighs.

She shook her head. What was wrong with her? He was an outsider. Worse. He was the enemy. A paid fighter making a few bucks by continuing the endless butchery of the Great Houses. He barely rated more than a pirate.

ComStar had been her mother, her father. They'd taken her in, given her purpose. Taught her, clothed her, fed her, trained her. Everything up to just a few days ago.

She should have died with the others instead of breaking the trust. Like Ryo. He'd been faithful to the end, just like the rest of the members of her Level I. All except for her.

She'd betrayed ComStar. It was the harsh truth. She could try and dress it up any way she wanted, but it wouldn't change that simple fact. Her eyes drifted across Sigil's sleeping form once again.

Why? Why had she got involved with him?

And then it occurred to her. It wasn't him. It was the opportunity. The chance to live a life outside of the compound walls. To go where she will, speak with whom she pleased, to do whatever she wanted. The quasi-religious crusader wasn't really who she dreamed of being. She didn't aspire to give the entirety of her life, and her soul, to the service of Our Blessed Founder.

She'd never realized how fiercely she wanted to be free. At least not until the opportunity had presented itself.

And now she was too far gone to turn around. She had to see it through.

-

Still shackled in chains, Julianna Rose was led into an adjacent interrogation room. The man who had murdered her lancemates sat calmly at the end of a small table. Her minder shoved her into a chair opposite him, shackling her to it. She noticed the chair itself was bolted to the floor, then again, it was a Dropship, so maybe that was why.

She looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm ready to talk."

McMillan gave her a thinly veiled smile. "Of course you are. You've been talking quite a bit with your little loverboy already. And, I've been listening. So unless you have something more to add, this conversation is going to be awfully short. You requested this meeting, so I suggest you use your time wisely. You don't have much left."

He smiled at her wolfishly.

"Ok, so here's the deal. I'll tell you everything I know, everything I've pieced together, and everything I suspect. In exchange, I want a new identity, full Lyran citizenship, one million C-bills, and to be resettled on a medium sized world."

McMillan laughed in her face. "As if you're in any position to make demands. Don't be naïve. Do you really think there any chance you're going to walk away from this?"

His laughter was cold, cruel and pitiless. "The best you can hope for is a painless death, which I assure you, you would find preferable to being tortured and left to slowly rot away to nothing shackled and locked in windowless cell."

He leaned forward. "I'm listening, but unfortunately for you, I'm not hearing anything."

McMillan rose from his chair, walking past her. "I'll be back in five minutes. When I return, either tell me something of value, or…"

The door to the interrogation room clanged shut, and she found herself alone for the first time.

-

There was a knock on her stateroom door. She recognized her communications officer's voice. "Captain Salt. You asked to be notified if anything happened with the prisoners. The girl requested to speak with McMillan. They are in the interrogation room now."

Captain Salt flipped her terminal off, rose and left. "Thank you, Sanchez."

Her stiletto heels clicked purposefully against the steel flooring as she strode towards the interrogation room. As she approached McMillan came out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He stopped as he saw her approaching. "Captain Salt. Why am I not surprised? For your information, the prisoner requested to speak with me." He gave her a smug, triumphant look.

She didn't break stride, but as she closed to with a few feet of him, McMillan moved to block her way.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I'm in the middle of a sensitive interrogation, and I can't have the prisoner disturbed. This is a delicate situation. I'm sure you understand."

She stopped inches from his face. "I recall have this discussion before, Ernie. On Ginestra. Let me refresh your memory on how things work around here. This is my ship, and I'll go wherever I damn well please, whenever I damn well want."

The air between them crackled with tension, as their eyes bored into each other's.

McMillan responded in a low growl, "I'm sorry Captain, I cannot permit you to see the prisoner and risk jeopardizing the acquisition of vital intelligence."

"Enough of the bullshit, Ernie. Vital intelligence for who? Who are you really working for?!"

With lightning speed, McMillan's leg swept out, sending Salt stumbling backwards, as both arms flashed out, shoving her violently away from him. She hit the ground, rolling with her shoulder, regaining her feet some 15 feet away from him.

He dropped into a low combat stance. "I'm sorry Captain. I cannot permit you to disturb the prisoner."

Salt stalked forward. "I don't need your permission, Ernie."

Salt leapt against the passage wall, springing off it, leading with her wickedly sharp heel. McMillan dodged right, his fist flicking out, glancing off her kidney. As Salt landed, she spun her body around aiming a roundhouse kick at McMillan's head.

McMillan dropped low, sweeping her other leg out from under her, spilling her face first toward the ground. He leapt at her as she went down, but her legs flashed out catching him in a head scissor lock. She twisted her body, tossing him against the wall.

They both regained their feet, eyeing each other, waiting for the next opening.

The sound of combat boots came echoing down the hallway, as a pair of McMillan's men appeared at the end of the hall weapons drawn.

Salt quickly glanced over her shoulder. "What's this Ernie? A little mutiny perhaps?"

McMillan straightened up, calling out to his men. "Just a little friendly disagreement between me and Captain here. Return to your posts."

The two soldiers saluted, and eased back around the corner and out of sight.

McMillan regarded her coolly. "The Colonel would back me up on this, Captain. We are still in enemy territory, and as long as we remain here, the entire unit remains at risk. We don't have the time for formalities. These people are fanatics. Look at how they tried to ram the JumpShip. They are rabid animals, and I will treat them as such. Now that girl in there, she might know something that could save us, or perhaps even thousands of lives somewhere else. And, I remind you, she asked to see me, not the other way around. So butt out. This is my operation."

"Your operation, Ernie? Maybe when you were stomping through the mud. But not when you're on MY ship. So either stand aside, or I'll make you stand aside."

McMillan crossed his arms over his chest. "Make me."

She wasn't worried. She'd trained at Warrior House Matsukai on Wazan in the Capellan Confederation for years before she had to leave. She was as skilled at unarmed combat as she was as piloting DropShips.

The incredible flurry of strikes and parries were almost too fast for the eyes to follow as the combatants sought to find an opening to exploit.

Captain Salt landed a palm strike to his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of McMillan and temporarily paralyzing his diaphragm. She followed up with arm lock, throwing him to the ground, as they continued to grapple.

McMillan managed to escape, gaining the dominant position and landing a punishing strike from above, splitting the Salt's lip wide open. Salt shifted into an open guard, and continuing her legs up and over trapped McMillan in a triangle choke hold.

McMillan tried to pull away, shifting his arm away from his carotid artery, as he struck her another vicious blow to the face. Salt went for the reversal, but McMillan was simply too strong, and they both spilled sideways onto the floor.

As she rolled, Salt released her lock, getting her foot back under her, and swinging her body around in a low arc. The back of the heel came whipping around smashing into McMillan's jaw, sending him crashing against the steel wall.

She backed away, wiping away at the copious amount of blood still pouring from her busted lip. As McMillan stood, she could see the right side of his face was already bruising from where he had smacked into the wall.

They charged each other again. Back and forth the battle raged up and down the hallway, hands, feet, elbows, and legs alternately striking and deflecting as they danced.

Then Salt lead in with a palm strike, dropping to her knees at the last second, as McMillan's roundhouse sailed over her head. She drove her palm straight into his groin, and McMillan went down hard, moaning.

In a flash she had him in a figure four blood choke hold. He gurgled for a few seconds then lost consciousness. She rolled him over with her foot, and delivered a closed fist strike to his lips, bursting one wide open in a shower of blood.

"Now we're even."

Then she straightened out her crimson leather flight suit and turning, opened the door to the interrogation room, locking it behind her.

-

Chapter 20

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Julianna Rose turned as the door to the interrogation room opened. Her eyes widened in surprise as a blonde woman in a tight red leather body suit, blood still dripping from her split lip entered the room, sitting down calmly across from her.

"I'm afraid Captain McMillan won't be joining us. He's taking a short nap. I'm Varukka Salt, captain of the Snowmane. I've got just one question for you."

Rose nodded, her mind racing. She'd heard the sounds of a struggle through the steel walls, had this woman and McMillan fought?

"What happened to you after you were taken prisoner?"

Julianna took a deep breath before beginning. "Demi-Precentor Ryo Chevrue, four of my lancemates and I, were all taken into custody on the field right after the battle. We were bound, gagged and lined up on the ground. The Demi-Precentor was obviously injured, and no attempt was made to provide medical care of any kind whatsoever. One of the soldiers flipped us all over so we could see what was happening. McMillan went after the Demi-Precentor first. Ryo wouldn't talk, so McMillan shot him through the head. He shot two more of my lancemates as they lay bound and gagged on the ground. That's when I… I… started talking. As soon as I started, McMillan shot the other two as they lay there helpless."

Rose flushed red in shame as she recalled the terror which led to her betrayal of ComStar. Tears began streaming down her face as she watched her lancemates murdered again in her mind's eye.

Captain Salt nodded. "Were there any witnesses?"

Rose nodded. "Yes. There were at least three soldiers there. One of them held up the Demi-Precentor before McMillan shot him, one was recording the whole thing, and one of them flipped us over. He was also the same one that restrained Sigil, and took us on the VTOL. Leisster I think his name was."

Salt rose. "In the future, keep your mouth, and your legs, shut. You'll save everyone a lot trouble."

Captain Salt activated her personal comlink. "Sanchez, search Captain McMillan's quarters. Look for recordings of any kind, and bring them to my quarters."

Julianna heard the heavy locking bolts click into place seconds after Captain Salt left the room.

-

Captain Forrester smiled for the first time since their arrival at the Talisker system. Stephenson had pulled one out of the hat, and the JumpSail was fully deployed behind the Blue Danube. It wasn't 100% by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn't about to complain with the 77% charge they were pulling in from the huge solar sail.

He allowed himself a brief respite before turning his attention to the next problem. The estimated charge time. 221 hours, just over 9 days. The Snowmane has been in transit from the planet's surface for 3 days already, and they were due to dock in another two. Captain McMillan had intelligence suggesting another JumpShip was due to arrive in two weeks. So, if everything held together, the Blue Danube would be jumping out of system 12 days after the battle, giving them a cushion of two days before the window opened for the possible JumpShip arrival.

And he didn't hold any illusions about what would happen if they were still around when it arrived. Not after he'd already been rammed once.

He turned his attention back to monitoring the charging system. The salvaged inverters were working, and the main power conduit seemed stable. It was probably a good thing he wasn't running them at 100% capacity. The additional strain might have pushed them over the edge.

-

Dawg had just finished reading Captain McMillan's after action report. It was short, concise, almost terse. It summarized the 'Mech engagement followed by the destruction of the ComStar facility located there. In it, he commended the actions of Lt. Hamilton, crediting him with the destruction of multiple enemy 'Mechs and ultimately with the successful outcome of the battle. He also commented on the superb fire support provided by Corporal Walther in his Archer.

From there, he went on to explain why he had ordered Private Sigil arrested and charged with numerous court martial offenses, including failure to obey orders, carnal knowledge, misbehavior before the enemy, assaulting a superior commissioned officer, and disrespect toward a superior commissioned officer.

Well, ya, that did sound kinda like Sigil. But still. Dawg shook his head. That boy could get into trouble in a cardboard box. He couldn't wait to hear this story. One second thought, maybe he could. Carnal Knowledge? Geez.

Next, he pulled up Captain Salt's SitRep. After reading it, Dawg chucked the datapad onto his desk in disgust.

What the hell was going on down there?

McMillan had assumed operational command on the ground after the Colonel and the XO were incapacitated. And while he'd completed the mission, Salt's report regarding his tactics was deeply troubling.

Summary executions on the battlefield, denial of Article III surrender under the Ares Conventions, saturation bombardment, and indiscriminate killing of non-combatants. Any one of those would have been more than enough to put an officer under arrest pending a trial. But combined together, it was almost monstrous.

Had everyone gone totally crazy? Kerensky! The Colonel would have a total shit fit if he knew what was going on. The entire situation was rapidly spiraling out of the control, and it was, in his estimation, becoming a danger to the unit itself.

He was the senior Captain in the unit. Salt and McMillan were at loggerheads over the chain of command. Well, that was one thing that would be easily settled.

As soon as they docked, he would step in as the acting commander of the 69th. Period.

-

The Snowmane docked with the Blue Danube as scheduled two days later. As the airlock connecting the two ships hissed opened, Dawg was standing there, arms crossed, a full platoon of his marines behind him.

And just as he expected, both Captain Salt and Captain McMillan were waiting for him. The tension on the ship was palpable. Not to mention the fact that both of their faces were all busted up.

Kerensky! Had they been fighting too on top of everything else!?

Dawg didn't waste any time. "Effective immediately, as the senior captain, I will be serving as the commanding officer of the 69th until such time as either Colonel Henley or his designated XO, Captain Weddle, are fit to resume their responsibilities."

He paused a moment to let that sink in before continuing. "Captain Salt and Captain McMillan, we will be holding a command staff meeting at 16:30 aboard the Blue Danube. Captain Forrester will also be attending."

He motioned to one of the marines standing behind him. "Lieutenant Cordova here will take immediate custody of both prisoners. They will be detained aboard the Blue Danube until such time as their status is resolved. Is this understood?"

Captain McMillan was the first to respond. "Yes, sir." He followed with a crisp salute.

Captain Salt's face was a frozen mask. "Understood, sir."

"Good. I will see you both at 16:30 in the conference room. Dismissed."

He turned to Lt. Cordova. "Take custody of the prisoners and secure them on the JumpShip ASAP."

In moments, the airlock was empty.

-

Dawg wanted to send a strong, unmistakable message. Not only was he sitting at the head of the small conference table, he had elected to have two of his marines standing at attention behind him on either side. And they were, of course, armed.

He had absolutely no tolerance for in-fighting. It pointed to two things. A breakdown in discipline, and a lack of clarity in the chain of command. Either of which could prove as deadly to the unit as an enemy WarShip.

He had to nip this is in the bud, and he had to do it right now. If he left it to fester, when the Colonel was back on his feet, he'd have lost faith in him, and everyone else involved in the entire situation.

Dawg believed the situation was still salvageable, and he was about to put his belief to the test.

The three Captains came filing in moments later. McMillan was first, followed by Forrester, and finally Salt. McMillan took one of the long sides, opposite to the door, Forrester across from him, while Salt sat at the far end.

Dawg opened the meeting. "Captain McMillan, I read your AAR. It was… brief. Elaborate on your tactics."

McMillan straightened up in his seat. "I'd be happy to, Captain. I was just as shocked as the rest of you by the attack on the Blue Danube. As we all know, attacking a JumpShip is practically considered piracy. So it was obvious from the moment we emerged into the Talisker system, our opposition had absolutely no regard for the conventions of war."

McMillan looked around the table. Forrester was nodding.

He continued on, "Subsequent to the assault on the space station, I strongly suspected we were either facing a militant arm of ComStar, or at least a unit contracted by them. This was further bolstered by the presence of the HyperPulse Generator traffic detected by Captain Forrester originating from the planet."

"After I assumed operational command of the unit, following the incapacitation of the Colonel and XO, I interrogated the prisoners that had been captured. The pilot of the Pillager self-identified himself as ComStar Demi-Precentor IV-Alpha Ryo Chevrue. From that point forward, I was operating under the assumption we were engaging a ComStar force."

"We all know ComStar claims to maintain a policy of strict neutrality. However, the existence of this military facility on Talisker throws serious doubt on that claim. My subsequent questioning of the prisoners revealed not only the presence of additional combat forces on that base, but the existence of another significant military force out of system conducting operations. Given the description of the raiding force we were looking for, it seemed reasonable to believe they were this missing force. The composition of the BattleMechs fielded by ComStar were exclusively Star League era models, which matched exactly with the description of the raiders provided by Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto at the onset of the contract. In my mind, this left no doubt that the base was the target we had been contracted to destroy. Which is exactly what I proceeded to do."

He paused looking around the table.

Dawg spoke next. "Captain McMillan, after you questioned the Demi-Precentor, what did you do next?"

"We all know the dire consequences for attacking a ComStar facility. You don't have to look any further than the Interdiction against the Federated Suns during the 4th Succession War. If our attack on this facility were ever to become public, the repercussions would be devastating. Not only for our own unit, but especially for our employer. Operational security became the paramount concern at that point."

Dawg's eyed never left McMillan's face. "I repeat, Captain McMillan, after you questioned the Demi-Precentor, what did you do next?"

McMillan turned towards Captain Salt, eyes afire. "Am I being accused of something?"

Dawg barked across the table. "I'm the one asking the questions, Captain! You will address me, and only me. Now answer the question." McMillan's head snapped back to Dawg.

"This ComStar military unit, lead by the Demi-Precentor, was responsible for attacking numerous civilian targets throughout the Skye March. They are also directly responsible for the murder of an unknown number of Lyran citizens and non-combatants. Their flagrant disregard for standard ROE, as well as the Ares Conventions, left no doubt in mind as to their guilt."

He glanced over at Captain Salt. "Furthermore, I have been denied access to evidence which validates this claim."

Dawg frowned. "Captain McMillan, you have still not answered the question."

McMillan clinched his jaw as he continued. "I will also take this opportunity to inform you that certain recordings have been taken without authorization from my private quarters."

Once again he speared Captain Salt with a vicious look.

Dawn nodded. "Very well. I am requisitioning all battlefield, surveillance, and communications recordings, as well as any other material which potentially have bearing regarding this situation. I expect those materials to be delivered to me as soon as possible. After I have examined them, we will reconvene on this topic."

Dawg continued, "Now, regarding other matters. Captain McMillan, in your AAR you have charged Private Sigil will numerous and serious offenses. I also note that he is currently incarcerated pending the outcome of these charges."

McMillan nodded. "That is correct, sir. There are numerous witnesses to his conduct on the battlefield, as well as his subsequent actions during my interrogation of the prisoners. However, as I mentioned before, certain video evidence has been mysteriously removed from my quarters. This video included the verbal and physical assault Private Sigil conducted on my person."

Dawg frowned. "Unfortunately, it appears neither of these issues can be resolved expediently."

He turned to Captain Forrester. "Captain Forrester, update us on status of the Blue Danube."

Captain Forrester responded. "Yes, Captain. Assuming everything holds to together, the K-F drive will be fully charged in approximately one week. This gives us two days before the window opens for the return of the additional ComStar forces which we believe are currently out on assignment."

"The space station has been stripped clean, and Captain Dawg has wired it with explosives. We recovered a ST-46 shuttlecraft, a number of usable Lithium-Fusion batteries, associated control monitoring, and transmission parts, stockpiles of fuel, aerospace parts, food, medical supplies and various and sundry dry goods."

He grinned. "All considered, it represents a considerable haul. And potentially quite a lucrative one as well. The Lithum-Fusion batteries and associated control equipment alone could be worth tens of millions to the right buyer."

"In regards to the damage suffered by the Blue Danube, we were able to scavenge a number of K-F booms from the space station and graft them onto the Danube's superstructure. The JumpSail is currently deployed and providing charge sufficient to get us out of here. Which brings me to my next point."

"There is only one destination within Jump distance that would get us back into Steiner space. Phalan. It's a border world, so I expect it will be heavily defended. I've already spoken with Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto and he assures me our sudden appearance there will not cause any problems he can't handle. If the Colonel's condition hasn't improved by that time, we will transfer him planet side in the ST-46."

"From there, things get a little hazy. Alarion in the Donegal March is the nearest orbital shipyard. Ioto Galactic Enterprises manufactures, refits, and repairs Scout, Invader and Monolith class JumpShips there. Given the temporary nature of the repairs we've done, I want to get the Danube into dock as soon as possible. After we arrive in Phalan, I will likely continue onto Alarion assuming the JumpSail is still functional. Lt. Colonel Zardetto will arrange for the Snowmane to be transferred to a LCAF JumpShip where it will continue on to Ginestra."

Captain Salt's eyebrows raised. "Ginestra? Why aren't we returning to Galatea?"

Forrester shrugged. "Lt. Colonel Zardetto wants the salvage delivered to Ginestra. They have full exchange rights to everything that was taken on Talisker."

Salt looked pissed as she turned to Dawg. "If Zardetto wants his salvage, we can transfer it to a LCAF DropShip when we land on Phalan. Then he can take it wherever the hell he wants from there. If the Colonel's going planet side, he's not going alone. Non-negotiable."

Dawg nodded. "Once we've arrived in Phalan, we'll take it from there. Captain Forrester is just giving us his best guesses at this point."

Salt didn't look mollified, but she managed to remain silent.

Dawg stood up. "One last quick matter."

He looked at McMillan and Salt in turn. "If you two cannot maintain appropriate and professional relations, I won't hesitate to throw you both in the brig. Is that understood?"

McMillan nodded. "Yes, sir. Understood sir."

Salt looked defiant. "While we are on the topic, Dawg, I want this made perfectly clear. As Captain of the Snowmane, the safety and well-being of every single person aboard, regardless of their status, is MY responsibility. Technically, when it comes to matters regarding the Snowmane, MY word trumps even that of the Colonel's. So, I will not tolerate ANYONE denying me access to my own ship, or interfering with my responsibilities as Captain."

Captain McMillan bristled.

Dawg eyed them both angrily. "Get back to your posts and do us all a favor and stay of each other's way. Dismissed!"

-

Chapter 21

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Dawg knew Captain Salt was on her way, her arrival telegraphed by the clicking of her heels against the steel flooring of the Blue Danube.

As she entered his cramped office, she tossed a datapad onto the desk. "Careful what you wish for, Dawg. It's all there. Communication transcripts, a full set of battlefield ROMs, the recording of the interrogation taken by Private Kinsey. And the full surveillance videos from aboard the Snowmane. Everything."

Dawg let out a heavy sigh, as he motioned for her to sit down. "Close the door, please."

He gave her a long look. "Ok, Salt, out with it. I can tell you've got something to say."

Salt leaned back, her leather flight suit creaking as she did so. She gave Dawg an appraising look.

"I told the Colonel this, and now that you're acting CO, I'm going to tell you."

Dawg leaned forward.

"Remember that cargo run we went on after Clipperton? The one to Ginestra? I went down to observe the unloading and guess who I saw the good Captain McMillan talking with?"

Salt paused, giving him a deadpan look. "One Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto. Who just happens to be our liaison officer."

Dawg's eyebrows furrowed, as Salt continued on. "Like I told the Colonel, there's some kind of connection between McMillan, Forrester, and Zardetto. And now I hear, lo and behold, we're going back to Ginestra. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Dawg leaned back, his face lost in thought for a moment.

Then he spoke. "You know I hired McMillan. Around the same time the Colonel hired you, as a matter of fact. Right before the Carbonis raid. I know a bit more about him than you. He told me he was a retired LIC field officer, and his skills left no doubt in my mind that he was Black-Ops. In fact, I've suspected for a long time he isn't as retired as he led me to believe."

"Black-Ops guys are a breed unto themselves. They don't see the world like you and me. They see what has to be done and do it. The Colonel knew this operation was going to be a sensitive one when he accepted it. I don't think any of us expected to find ComStar behind the whole thing, but that's sure as hell what it looks like. Which, frankly, makes McMillan's assessment of the situation pretty spot on."

"Now if I watch these recordings, what's going to happen? Perhaps I'll find out some things I wish I didn't know. And finding them out, I might be forced to act. Maybe in ways I don't want to. Do you understand what I'm saying, Varukka?"

Captain Salt scowled. "What? You just want to brush all this under the carpet? Pretend none of it happened, Dawg? Is that it?"

Dawg growled. "And just what exactly do you suggest I do? Court Martial McMillan and Sigil? And, if it gets out that we attacked a ComStar facility, the entire damn unit will be blacklisted! Is that what you want!?"

Salt looked at him flatly. "I signed on with the Colonel because I could see he was a man of honor. Someone who I could trust to do the right thing. Someone who cares about the people under him. Someone who wouldn't stand by and watch a bunch of prisoners and non-combatants murdered."

Dawg looked supremely unhappy.

Salt stood up. "I don't know what you should do. You're the acting CO, Dawg, you figure it out."

She slammed the door behind her.

Dawg retrieved the datapad from his desk. He shoved it into the bottom drawer and locked it.

This was above his pay grade.

-

Dawg was sitting behind the desk as Captain McMillan entered. He motioned for him to sit down.

"You are relieved of your combat duties, and hereby placed on administrative leave pending a full review by the Colonel. During that time you will continue to receive full pay and benefits."

Dawg shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ernie. My hands are tied on this."

McMillan looked at him. "What am I being charged with?"

"Article 134. The General Article."

McMillan nodded. "You know I did the best thing possible for the unit, Dawg. Some people just don't have the stomach for war. I have no doubt the Colonel will understand the necessity of my decisions."

Dawg replied simply, "You are dismissed, Captain."

-

Lt. Cordova escorted Sigil in next. Sigil shuffled along awkwardly in leg irons, his hands still cuffed behind his back. The Leutnant helped him into the chair across from Dawg and left.

"Private Sigil, you are relieved of your combat duties, and hereby placed on administrative leave pending a full review by the Colonel. During that time you will continue to receive full pay and benefits."

Sigil looked completely lost and bewildered. "What? Dawg? What's going on?"

"I'm acting CO until either the Colonel or Captain Weddle is fit to resume duty."

Sigil went from lost to confused. "Huh? No one's told me anything! I don't even know why I'm in prison!"

Dawg sighed. "You are charged with Article 89, disrespect toward a superior commissioned officer, Article 90, assaulting a superior commissioned officer, Article 92, failure to obey orders, Article 99, misbehavior before the enemy and Article 120, carnal knowledge."

Sigil looked shocked as he stared blankly at Dawg.

Dawg rubbed his temples. "Kerensky, Sigil! You were &^%$ ^& the Spector pilot on the battlefield! What in the Inner Sphere were you thinking!? It's not even safe to let you out of prison! Kerensky knows what you'll do next!"

"But, but, but… I mean…," Sigil started blushing.

Dawg held up his hands. "I don't want to know, Sigil. I really don't. You're in it up to your eyeballs. And frankly, I can't be responsible for you. You are to remain in lockdown until such time as the Colonel reviews your conduct and passes judgment. You've really screwed the pooch this time."

"I'm sorry, Sigil. I really am. Dismissed."

Dawg called out loudly. "Lt. Cordova, please escort Private Sigil back to the detention cell."

As the Leutnant helped him to his feet, Sigil called out to Dawg, "What about Julianna? What's going to happen to her?"

Good question, Dawg thought to himself as they left his quarters.

-

Dawg was alone with his thoughts. Technically, the mission was a success, but it just felt like one huge CF to him. Well, he'd done what he had to. No sense dwelling on it any further. Now he had a unit to run.

Besides, it was past time to meet with Lt. Colonel Zardetto.

Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto was dressed casually in his BDUs as he entered the office Dawg had commandeered.

He extended his hand towards Dawg over the desk. "Congratulations, Captain. I read your report. The 69th performed above and beyond all expectations. How's the Colonel?"

Dawg gave him a firm handshake, motioning for him to sit down. "The medic still wants to keep him under for a few more days, just to be on the safe side. He'll have more than his fair share of scars when all is said and done, but we won't really know until he comes out."

The concern on Zardetto's face was genuine. "I know the Colonel's father. I visited them both on Whittington. He's a good man, just like his son. The Commonwealth could use more men like them. If there is anything whatsoever I can do, please let me know."

Dawg nodded. "I expect to transfer both the Colonel and Captain Weddle planet side once we make the Jump to Phalan for treatment. Anything you can do to grease the wheels of the Lyran bureaucracy once we arrive would be appreciated."

Zardetto smiled. "I don't expect that will be a problem. I've been cutting through military bureaucracy for my entire career. And, frankly, I'm good at it. I'll provide Captain Forrester with the necessary IFF codes prior to the Jump to Phalan so they don't get too excited by our arrival."

He straightened up, his face turning serious. "Let me start with the obvious. Your unit will receive the full 9.5 million C-bills for the successful completion of the contract. In addition, I will extend the 25% battle loss compensation to cover the damage to the Blue Danube as well. I am, however, going to exercise our exchange rights and claim all salvage recovered during the course of the operation."

It was all written in the contract, which he had actually taken the time to read before meeting with Zardetto. And as much as Dawg knew the Colonel would have jumped at the opportunity to hold onto the salvage, they simply didn't have the rights."

Dawg spread his hands out on the desk. "Given the nature of the salvage, it will be challenging to establish its fair market value. To further complicate matters, ComStar arbitration is obviously out of the question in this situation. I would like to have our chief 'Tech, Private Sigil, examine and inventory it in order to provide an estimate of its value. Then we can take it from there."

"As for the battle loss compensation, we will provide you with invoices showing the total cost of repairs, including parts and labor, for the unit's 'Mechs, and Captain Forrester will do the same regarding the Blue Danube once he gets it into dock at Alarion. We will also be claiming both LRM carriers as complete losses, since they had to be abandoned in the field. You will absorb 25% of the total incurred costs."

Zardetto nodded. "I am prepared to be quite generous, Captain, but there is one last matter that still needs to be resolved. I believe you have valuable intelligence regarding the identity and motive of the forces the 69th engaged on planet. In addition, I believe you have also taken a prisoner, who is of particular interest to the Lyran Commonwealth."

Dawg frowned. Well, honestly it would have been almost impossible to conceal to the fact there was a ComStar adept imprisoned on the Snowmane given the number of people who had seen her taken on the battlefield. Not to mention the controversy surrounding the circumstances of her actual capture.

He took a deep breath. "Regarding the prisoner, she is the sole witness in an ongoing legal case, so I cannot release her to Lyran custody until the case has been resolved. As for any intelligence that may have been obtained during the conduct of operations, I can provide you with a written summary of all relevant findings."

Now it was Zardetto's turn to frown. "I require access to all primary sources, including battlefield ROMs, surveillance recordings, the prisoner, and any other relevant materials. I'm sure I don't need to tell you the potential value of what the 69th has discovered here, nor do I need to remind you the contract specifically states that the determination of the identity of forces encountered is an essential facet of the primary objective."

Dawg responded, "There is little question as to the identity of the forces. The salvage you are claiming in of itself is sufficient to make an adequate determination. Furthermore, the unit will be exposed to excessive risk should any direct evidence of our participation in this operation ever become known."

Dawg smiled. His father was the Chief Executive Officer of Bulldog Enterprises on Northwind, and as such, Dawg actually had experience in negotiating. It was assumed that once he was done sowing his wild oats, as his father referred to it, he would return to Northwind and take his place as both owner and CEO of the production line there. The nature of this negotiation would have fit well in most any board room across Inner Sphere.

Zardetto sallied back. "If you prefer to provide sanitized versions of the requested materials, I am prepared to review them and determine if they are acceptable. However, in order to determine their veracity and validity, I will still require access to the original, unaltered versions."

Dawg leaned back. "Agreed, Lt. Colonel, on two conditions. While you are reviewing the originals, you will not make any attempt to record, or otherwise reproduce them in any way, and, I, or someone I designate, will be present at all times. Second, you will drop any and all claim to the prisoner."

Zardetto stood up, extending his hand. "You're one tough sonuvabitch. I thought the Colonel was prickly. Agreed."

Dawg stood, giving Zardetto's hand a firm grip. "I will make arrangements shortly, and let you know when they will be available for your review."

Chapter 22

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

"Looks like it's your lucky day, Private," Lt Cordova said as he opened the detention cell door. "Captain Dawg wants you to take a look at the salvage, see what its worth."

Lt. Cordova glanced over at the red headed prisoner. "Your gonna catch a break too. Once I get the Private here out of the cell, I'll remove your shackles so you can at least walk around."

Cordova chuckled. "Can't leave you two young lovers unrestrained in the same cell. You might mistake it for your honeymoon or something."

The ComStar adept just glared back at him.

-

Sigil was up on the portable lift examining the 100-ton Pillager. Lt. Cordova was on the ground below, his own private guard. Well, it was good to get out and move around. He turned his attention back to the 'Mech.

Right torso destroyed, along with the Poland Main Model A gauss rifle and the portion of the Vlar 300 XL engine that was housed there. The right arm had been severed off, but it still appeared functional. The left arm was another story all together. It looked as if it had used a club, the bottom two thirds of it were basically scrap, but the shoulder and upper arm actuators looked salvageable. The three massive jump jet exhaust ports all looked good. Actually, all considered it wasn't really in that bad of shape.

He climbed into the cockpit to check the electronics. Huh, that's interesting. It uses the C-Apple Churchill, the same targeting and tracking system used by the Vindicator. And the communications system was a CeresCom model. That'd make it a Capellan 'Mech.

He searched around in the cockpit for the manufacturing information. Bingo! PLG-3Z , HildCo Interplanetary, St. Ives, Capellan Confederation, 2731. Whoa. This baby was vintage! But now that both the gauss rifle and extralight fusion engine technology had been recovered, maybe HildCo would restart production one day. They still produced 'Mechs on St. Ives, so it didn't seem out of the question. And more importantly, it seemed likely the 'Mech could be fully repaired.

Sigil chuckled. Hamilton would love this ride.

He maneuvered the lift over to the next bay. Ahh yes, the 80-ton Striker, one of the orphaned Stormvanger models, along with the Cyclops and Javelin. Once common throughout the Inner Sphere, they had been slowly disappearing since the production lines on Caph had been destroyed during the Civil War.

It was a thoroughly uninspiring design. If anyone bothered, they could start manufacturing them today. It used all stock parts, the weapons, engines, actuators, everything. In fact, that was really the only to recommend it. It was easy to maintain and repair. Of course, this one was missing a head, but otherwise it was in good shape.

He glanced around back. Whoa. Strike that. Something had put a huge hole straight though the center of its back, trashing the gyro and damaging the engine. Weird. The arms and legs were all in perfect condition, wonder how that happened.

He dutifully marked it down on his datapad, and kept shifting down the line. A 70-ton Excalibur was next, hanging in the bay with chains. It was blown all to hell. The entire right side was gone, including the leg. It'd need a new gauss rifle, the Ford 350XL would need some serious work, a new arm, new leg. It'd be a serious project. Still, that was one helluva engine.

He hopped into the open cockpit, poking around. Oh, look at that. A KBC Starsight. Now that was a nice piece of electronics. Five primary targets, target identification, target damage indicator, and lock-on indicator, but it was known mostly for its target prioritizing. It would literally tell you what to shoot at. Basically, the system would determine in real-time who was firing on you during a firefight and highlight those targets for your attention. A handy little trick, especially in target rich environments.

Now, it wasn't up to par with his Sloane 220 Lockover by any stretch of the imagination. The primary difference was the lack of a full featured Battle Computer, but it was definitely in the top 10 of T&T systems ever produced.

He found the nameplate riveted to the side of the command couch. EXC-B2, Skobel MechWorks, Caph, Terran Hegemony, 2707.

He climbed out and back into the lift, driving it down to the next 'Mech hangar. A 60-ton Lancelot that was cratered with more missile hits than he could count stood like an ancient battered Terran knight.

Left arm, left torso destroyed. Another 'Mech shutdown by engine damage. In the end that was why he had been adamant about not putting a full blown Extralight fusion engine in his Assassin. Just this very reason. This was what, the third 'Mech he's seen so far that had fallen victim to having it engine shut down from side torso destruction?

His Assassin's Merkel 280L could sustain the loss of a torso. Sure it'd throw out heat like a flamer gone mad, but it wouldn't, in of itself, cause an automatic shutdown.

He stuck his head in through the gaping hole in the left torso. The engine was absolutely monstrous. A Hermes 360 XL. It was capable of moving 60-tons of steel at sustained rate of almost 100 km/p. That was some serious power.

He moved up to the cockpit. LNC25-01, Krupp Stellar Technologies Inc., Mars, Terran Hegemony, 2699. Interesting, this 'Mech had a similar, if not the same, T&T system as the Excalibur. A KBC Starlight.

He thought about it for moment. Actually, Krupp was originally known for its T&T systems and battle computers. What was interesting was that they actually made this entire 'Mech. He couldn't recall any other 'Mech made by Krupp. And besides, almost all, if not all, the manufacturing plants on Mars had been wiped out during the Civil War.

But if memory served, Luthien Armor Works had briefly restarted production of the Lancelot after the 2nd Succession War. Their version lacked the powerful Hermes 360 XL, the advanced Krupp battle computer, as well as the double heat sinks. The result was a 'Mech which quickly acquired the ignominious nickname "The Coffin." Between the nineteen single heat sinks, thin armor, and reduced speed, it didn't remain in production for long, but at least it proved to be a source of parts for the remaining -01s before they disappeared into the history books.

He drove the lift across the hangar, Lt. Cordova dutifully following him on the ground, to examine the pair of Night Hawks. Yep, more victims of engine damage. That made five out of the six 'Mechs he'd examined so far. Note to the self, XL engines create a significant vulnerability. One was missing the right torso, the other the left.

It was a relatively small machine, lighter than his own Assassin, but it carried an amazing array of lasers. A Maxell extended range heavy, a Defiance B3L heavy, and a Defiance P5M medium pulse. The range curve was excellent, it could start engaging out at around 600 meters, and it would just get worse the closer you got. There wasn't anything like in the light class. Range as good a Valkyrie, armor better than a Panther, as fast as a Commando, and armed almost like an Enforcer. It was 35-tons of solid military engineering.

He clambered into the cockpit of the first one. NTK-2Q, Mountain Wolf BattleMechs, Vendrell, Lyran Commonwealth, 2701. TharHes communications system, and a RCA InstaTrac T&T system. Nothing special there. Captain's Weddle's T-bolt used a RCA InstraTrac as well, in fact, the IMB systems facility they had raided on Carbonis a few years back still made them.

He stuck his head into the second one. NTK-2Q, Mountain Wolf BattleMechs, Vendrell, Lyran Commonwealth, 2742. He shrugged, other than the date of manufacture it seemed exactly the same.

He drove the lift to the last 'Mech bay, stopping as he approached to savor the sight. There she was. The Spector. And ironically, she was draped over the remains of his own Assassin, her right arm atop his shoulder, his left arm wrapped around her waist in an embrace that strangely echoed their own from the battlefield.

She was all seductive curves, and smooth, clean lines, right down the extensive jump jet exhaust ports cleverly concealed in her backpack. And the way the light played across her Starshield Light armor. She had elegance and grace, even with the damage. Looking at her almost brought him to tears. Everything that had come before paled in comparison. This 'Mech was just simply in another class all together, right down to her XT-Light Type AE Endo Steel chassis.

He maneuvered the lift up next to her, running his hand slowly down her right arm and the Nightwind heavy laser it contained. Even her armor felt smooth, almost glassy. He leaned over, examining it closely.

Wait a minute. It was glass-like, with an odd translucence that tended to pick up the colors around it. Sigil's face screwed in confusion, as he dropped the lift down to the Spector's legs. Extensive heat baffles covered the legs starting just below the knees. Whoa. Hold on a second.

His gut clinched, as excitement started to build. She'd lied. This wasn't a -5F. This was the real deal. He shot the lift up to the cockpit. Opening the canopy, his breath was taken away by the array of lostech electronics. Holy mother of Kerensky!

DLK Type Phased Array Sensor System, AR-12 Sheathed Directional Beacon with Guardian ECM Suite, Null Signature System, Chameleon Light Polarization Shield. He felt something warm trickling down his leg as he searched for the name plate.

SPR-4F, General Systems, Caph, Terran Hegemony, 2762. He fell into the command couch, as the world swam in front of his eyes. Unbelievable. It was like seeing a ghost. While the majority of the old Star League era technology had been recovered with the discovery of the Helm Memory Core, the Null Signature and Chameleon Shield had been jealously guarded by the Terran Hegemony, and the secrets of its construction had never been allowed to filter down to the Great Houses.

There were only two 'Mechs ever reported to have carried the two advanced stealth systems, the EXT-4C Exterminator, and the SPR-4F Spector. The Exterminator had been exclusively assigned to the SLDF Royal Divisions, while the Spector was unique to the SLDF Special Armed Services, which included the infamous Blackhearts.

Sigil sat there in stunned silence. No wonder Walther had never seen her coming. She'd been stealthed! He thought back to the battle. He'd been relying on visuals when he'd seen her, not the T&T system, and the Assassin's Garret 500S was a piece of junk anyway.

But how had Hamilton managed to target her? Hmm. She must have had to disengage the stealth systems when she alpha-struck Walther in the back. The same might have been true when she shot him in the back. Now there was a good question. Could you have the stealth systems engaged and fire at the same time?

Too bad the Magna 245 XL was trashed. Man, what he wouldn't give to fire the baby up right now.

He climbed back onto the lift, flush with excitement, calling down to Lt. Cordova as he did so.

"Cordova! I gotta see Dawg right now!"

As he hopped out of the lift, Lt. Cordova looked him over, giving him a queer look.

Sigil looked down at himself, noticing a dark wet spot extending from his crotch all the way down his right leg.

-

Chapter 23

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Lt. Cordova escorted Sigil into Dawg's office aboard the Blue Danube. Words started tumbling out of Sigil's mouth before he even managed to sit down.

"It's a -4F! The Spector! It's a freakin' -4F! I can't believe it! It's a -4F!" Sigil proceeded to do a strange little jig around Dawg's desk, pumping his fist, and making rather lewd pelvic motions.

Dawg leapt to his feet, clearly angry. "Sit your ass down, Private, and try to at least pretend you're a soldier in this man's army! Lt. Cordova, strap him down to that chair if he so much as twitches again!"

Sigil slid into the chair across from Dawg, tossing his datapad onto the desk, and shaking his head as he continued to talk.

"No can do, boss. How can you put a price on the priceless? How can you determine the value of something that's never been sold?"

Sigil chuckled. "How can you tell the worth of something which isn't even supposed to exist?"

He leaned forward over Dawg's desk conspiratorially. "The Spector down in the hold, it's the SLDF Special Armed Services version. The one with the Null Signature System and the Chameleon Light Polarization Shield. It's beyond lostech. You couldn't even get your hands on one during the days of the Star League itself! Its value is incalculable."

Sigil leaned back, "The condition and estimated value for the rest of the stuff is on the datapad."

Sigil cocked his head to one side, "None of it is really that special, a couple of KBC Starlight T&Ts, some big engines, a few major weapon systems. All of it actual Star League stuff, made circa 2700, most of it from Caph back when it was a part of the Terran Hegemony. General Systems, Skobel MechWorks, and Stormvanger Assemblies still had operating factories there back then. How they got their hands on this stuff, I have no idea."

Dawg picked up the datapad quickly scrolling through it. The low end started at 50 millon C-bills not including the Spector, and ended as high as almost 70 million. Sigil noted that all the 'Mechs they had salvaged could be fully repaired and returned to operation.

Dawg looked back up at Sigil who was sitting on his hands, biting his lip.

"You can't sell that Spector, Dawg, you just can't. An opportunity like this will NEVER come along again. If Zardetto even suspects we have a -4F, there's no possible way he'll let us keep it."

Dawg leaned back. The Spector aside, this was serious money. The contract itself, even after battle loss compensation, would be worth only a scant third of what Sigil estimated the salvage to be worth.

"How confident are you in this number?"

Sigil scowled. "Are you kidding me? I've been combing 'Mech yards since I was kid, not to mention handling all the repairs, part orders, and logistics for the entire unit since I joined! If there's one thing I know, it 'Mech values, right down to the cost of myomer."

Dawg nodded. "Thank you for your work Private. Dismissed."

Sigil face broke, as he started pleading. "Tell me you're not going to sell her, Dawg! Promise me! I'll do anything I swear!"

Dawg frowned. "That's exactly what frightens me. Cordova! Take the Private back to his cell."

-

Lt. Cordova escorted Sigil back to the detention cell where the ComStar adept, Julianna Rose, was also incarcerated.

As he entered, she looked at him and spoke, her voice light and airy. "Lt. Cordova, thank you."

She smiled at him. "It's been so long since I've been able to actually move around and stretch. You can't imagine how good it felt."

Cordova nodded, as she continued. "My muscles were so cramped and tight from being confined. I didn't realize how sore I was."

Cordova retrieved the waist chains and hand cuffs. "Sorry to do it, but the Captain's orders and all that."

He opened the cell. Rose didn't resist as he shackled her back to the jail wall, cuffing her hands in front of her this time.

He turned to Sigil. "Ok, Private, your turn."

Once he was done, he took up his duty station outside the detention block.

-

Sigil scowled across the cell at Julianna. "You lied to me. Your Spector is a -4F, with all the stealth systems and everything."

She gave a small sheepish shrug. "Well, you can't use them anyway, so it doesn't really matter does it?"

Sigil guffawed. "Well, once I'm outta the brig, you can bet your pretty little ass I will!"

She grinned mischievously. "No you're not."

Sigil jerked his head back. "Yes I am!"

She retorted, "No you're not."

Sigil growled, "And just why not?"

Rose smirked. "You won't be able to break through the security systems, and even if you try, it's rigged to explode."

Sigil looked surprised. "Really? Why would you do that!?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Because it's a -4F silly."

Sigil narrowed his eyes. "Well, YOU could disable it."

She gave a sly smile. "Well, I could. But why would I?"

Sigil thought about it for a moment, then puffed up. "What if I landed you a spot in the 69th? I am a founding member you know. Maybe I could pull some strings. Maybe you could even pilot it again. Well, you know, after I get to play with it first."

She giggled at him. "Maybe you could. But I think you'll have to get out of jail first."

-

Dawg called Lt. Colonel Zardetto back in.

As the Lt. Colonel sat down, Dawg handed him a datapad.

"Here's our estimate of the value of the 'Mechs we took on Talisker."

Zardetto took a few minutes to review it. "Your estimate is considerable. But then again, intact vintage Star League 'Mechs are a difficult thing to put a price on."

He put the datapad back down on Dawg's desk before continuing, "Actually, Captain, I was hoping you had called me so I could review the intelligence gathered from the field."

Dawg reached down, unlocking the bottom drawer of the desk, withdrawing another datapad from inside. He then activated the comlink.

"Captain Salt. Please report to my office aboard the Blue Danube."

Zardetto arched an eyebrow questioningly.

"Captain Salt will be my proxy during your review of the materials. Since she was the one who collated and prepared them, she is already familiar with their contents."

Zardetto's eyes practically glittered as he took the datapad from Dawg's hand.

Moments later Captain Salt strolled into the office in her ever present red flight leathers.

She looked at Zardetto, then over to Dawg.

Dawg spoke first. "Captain Salt, I would like you keep the Lt. Colonel company during his review of the intelligence materials you prepared for me. He has agreed to make no attempt to reproduce, record, or in any way copy the materials."

Salt nodded. "Lt. Sanchez is working on the sanitized version you requested as we speak. I expect he'll have them ready shortly before we make the Jump to Phalan."

Dawg stood up. "Captain Salt, if you will inform me when the Lt. Colonel is done, I would appreciate it."

-

Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto was shocked by breadth of intelligence the 69th had gathered. Not so much the battlefield records, although they did provide insight into how ComStar was organizing their military forces, as well as the skill of their MechWarriors, but by what the ComStar Adept Julianna Rose had been saying.

He had known about the ComGuard operations as far back as 3004. Pirates had attacked HPG stations on Lost and Canal, planets far out towards to the periphery in Lyran Commonwealth space. The ComGuards had tracked down the pirate force responsible for the attacks and wiped them out.

However, it was generally regarded their battlefield performance had been terrible. If the rumors were to be believed, the ComGuards had lost 2 'Mechs for every pirate 'Mech they had managed to destroy. And that was with their technological advantage. Consequently, the ComGuards had earned an early reputation as a novice unit.

The ComGuards had been stationed on periphery worlds since then, under the auspices of protecting their vital HPGs from further pirate raids. And they had also been active on various planets helping with relief efforts for natural disasters and assisting in search and rescue operations. All quite seemingly benign went taken individually.

And of course everyone was familiar with the Interdiction placed on the Federated Suns during the 4th Succession War.

Thomas Marik, Captain-General of the Free Worlds League and a former ComStar Precentor himself, had allowed ComGuard troops to be stationed at HPGs through the FWL in the early 3030's.

And it was also generally accepted that ComStar had played a role in the creation of the Free Rasalhague Republic in 3034. And by now, there was no longer any question ComStar had been funneling Star League 'Mechs to the Draconis Combine in return for their recognition of the Republic. 'Mechs the LCAF had to face during the War of 3039. It was also quite likely ComStar had managed to station ComGuards at HPGs in the Draconis Combine as part of that same deal.

Which brings us to the current situation. The supposed "terrorist" attack on a Skye ComStar facility in 3041, and the ongoing raids throughout the Isle of Skye. Which, ironically, had already resulted in the stationing of ComGuards at HPGs throughout the Isle by order of Ryan Steiner, the second cousin of the Archon herself. Not to mention his marriage to Morasha Kelswa in 3034, a member of the most powerful family in the Tamar Pact region of the Lyran Commonwealth.

But the news regarding Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht's sweeping changes to ComGuard, including a focus on combined-arms training and the rehabilitation of the Sandhurst Royal Military College was new. So was the fact they had been rotating their MechWarriors through Periphery postings in order to provide them will actual combat experience. And given their performance on the Talisker battlefield, the ComGuards were no longer a green unit easily dismissed, but an increasingly capable military organization.

Taken all together, it painted a startling picture. ComStar had been infiltrating the Great Houses for years, subtly stationing troops throughout the entire Inner Sphere, and fostering every opportunity to create smaller, less powerful states, such as the Rasalhague Republic, and now the potential resurrection of the Federation of Skye. Their moves had been slow and deliberate, but if his guess was correct, the pace of their preparations had been steadily increasing.

It looked like the foundation for a major military operation. He paled visibly. The Archon's husband, Prince Hanse Davion had long suspected ComStar of just this kind of activity, and here he was, light years from anywhere, with a critical piece to the puzzle. Hard evidence of ComStar directly attacking the Lyran Commonwealth.

He had to get to Asgard on Tharkard as soon as humanly possible.

-

Julianna Rose watched Sigil as he slept, her mind whirring nonstop. Things were just beginning to unravel, she could sense the fraying along the edges.

Which meant it was time to act.

She wiped the tears that came unbidden from her eyes. Her hands were cuffed in front of her this time, another sign from the Blessed Founder that her moment had come.

She actually liked him. She really did. He was sweet, silly, and incredibly naïve. Which was a nice way of saying he was a complete idiot. But he was such an enthusiastic and happy little idiot, that it was easy to get caught up in his optimism.

And he had given her the first taste of love. Something she had long thought she would never experience. And it was strangely intoxicating. It was almost worth throwing everything away for. She blushed. In fact, she had truthfully considered doing just that for a few days. She had allowed herself to dream of another life altogether. Of happiness, weddings, children, and days in the sun.

She shook her head, banishing the seductive images of a future she would never have.

She wouldn't kill him. She could at least do that.

She curled her legs under her, triggering the release for the small compartment that had been surgically implanted into her calf when she had joined ROM.

She retrieved a small vibro lockpick and a shigawire garrot.

Seconds later, she was free of both her handcuffs and the waist chain. She was filled with the sense of calm that comes with knowing you going to die. That what she was going to do was a suicide mission.

She crept across the cell towards Sigil's sleeping form.

She placed her hand over his mouth, her other arm around his neck. He came suddenly awake, confusion flooding through his eyes. She leaned close to him, savoring his warmth for a brief second before whispering into his ear the words she thought she would never say.

"I love you, Sigil. No matter what, believe that." Sigil's face turned from confusion to terror as he met her eyes.

Her gaze was fierce, yet pleading. He struggled to speak, but she quickly cut off his oxygen, tears once again flooding unwanted from her eyes as she watched him struggle, the light slowly dimming from his eyes.

Then he was unconscious. But not dead. She briefly checked his pulse to be sure. She didn't want that. He would serve as the act which might redeem her from the darkness she had chosen for herself.

She slipped her vibro lockpick into the detention cell door, opening it silently as she crept out on cat's paws.

This is where speed becomes critical. She quickly opened the door to the small detention block, her shigawire garrot already strung between her hands.

In a flash it was around the neck of the lone guard stationed outside the block. Thankfully, it wasn't Lt. Cordova, that too would have been a death she would have regretted. It's immeasurably harder to kill people you know.

He struggled briefly, but the molecular wire cut through the soft flesh of his throat with incredible ease. She eased his body to the floor, already pulling the uniform off his dead body. The first thing she did was to carefully conceal her flaming red hair securely under the cap. It would literally be a dead giveaway.

She knew the layout of both Union class DropShips and Scout JumpShips well. Disguised in the standard uniform of the 69th, she moved purposefully towards the airlock connecting the two ships. She wasn't sure of the exact time, but judging from the guard rotations, guessed it to be about oh dark thirty.

This was the part that carried the most risk. The airlock connecting the ships would likely either be guarded, or in the very least, secured. Opening it would be certain to draw attention. Even now she hadn't fully decided how she would handle it.

As she rounded the corner to the airlock, sure enough a pair of bored infantry stood on duty. She frowned. McMillan's men, she could tell from the unit patches. Luckily, her own uniform carried the insignia of Dawg's unit. She might be able to exploit that bit of luck combined with what she had gathered regarding the DropShip captain's reputation.

Bluff. She strode up to the guards, who shifted to attention as they saw her. "Captain Salt wants me to get Dawg and escort him ASAP down to the 'Mech hangar. Something funny's going on with one of the captured 'Mechs. The Spector started making strange noises."

One guard turned, keying in the access code for the airlock as the other one looked at her. She was in motion instantaneously, driving a spear hand open fist strike directly into his throat, crushing his windpipe and sending him gurgling to the floor clawing futility at his neck.

The second guard turned too late, as she slipped her garrot across his throat, practically severing his head with a single powerful pull.

The airlock slid open, and she was through, a deadly ghost in the night, two more bodies left in her wake.

The time for caution was over. Now it was all about speed. She sprinted towards the engineering level and the sensitive K-F coil it contained.

-

Chapter 24

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Captain Ernie McMillan awoke to the sound of alarms. He leapt from his berth aboard the Snowmane. He knew it without knowing, his instincts finely tuned by almost two decades of special ops, what was happening.

That ComStar bitch had managed to escape. He was already in motion running in just his boxers towards the detention cell, his service pistol in hand.

His other soldiers were hastily waking up behind him, looking around questioningly. He screamed out over his shoulder as he raced ahead. "Secure the 'Mech Hangar and the Bridge!"

He arrived at the detention block in scant seconds. One of Dawg's men lay dead and stripped of his uniform on the floor. It took only a second to determine he'd been neatly strangled.

He stuck his head around the corner. Sigil was still chained to the wall, but the cell door hung open. He was either unconscious or dead, the loud alarm klaxons failing to illicit any response from his prone form.

How the hell had she gotten out?! He knelt examining the cell door. Vibro lockpick! That settled it. Only one kind of MechWarrior would carry a vibro lockpick secreted on their person. Assuming she was, in fact, ComStar, that made her ROM.

******!

He paused, his mind racing. If I was her, where would I go. The 'Mech hangar and the Bridge were obvious choices. But why? What would I be trying to do?

His eye widened as the pieces clicked into place. He grabbed the comlink off the fallen solider, screaming into it, "PRIMARY OBJECTIVE! SECURE THE ****** JUMPSHIP!"

He launched himself towards the airlock connecting the two ships. The airlock was open, the floor covered in the pooled blood from a partly decapitated solider. One of his men! Two of his men!

His fury knew no bounds. He roared like a monstrous beast as he hurtled through the airlock. The Bridge? No. The Small Craft bay? No. The K-F drive? Yes!

He slid down the ladder as he tore towards engineering. She was going after the drive. She knew the other ComGuard units were due to return only days from now. She was going to maroon them here until her friends arrived to finish them off.

No wonder she'd been talking! She must have been planning this all along. Stringing them along with nuggets of information until just the right opportunity came along. She never intended to let them make the Jump out of system.

His worst fears were confirmed as he entered the engineering section. The body of the Junior Engineer lay crumpled against the wall, his head hanging at an awkward angle.

He led with his pistol now, his eyes searching for any sign of movement.

A female voice called out from off to the right. "Your too late, McMillan. I've already sabotaged the Coil."

McMillan tracked her by her voice, moving with feline grace as he closed on her concealed position.

"I always knew it would be you who came for me. I knew it from the first moment I saw you on Talisker that sooner or later you'd kill me. Honestly, I was surprised you didn't finish me off when you sent the rest of my Level II to Our Blessed Founder."

He had a fix on her position now. Only one way in. He gritted his teeth. She'd tucked herself into one of the tight alcoves along the K-F drive assembly. He wouldn't be able to get a line of sight on her until he was within five feet if he was lucky.

-

Julianna Rose took a deep breath. She knew it would be one of her last. McMillan was closing in on her. What would happen next was inevitable.

To her surprise, she found herself regretting her own actions. She'd done exactly what she'd been trained to do. What her entire life had been preparing her for. Still, in the end it felt like a hollow victory. The rest of her Level III would arrive and prevent the 69th from leaving. The secret of the ComStar base on Talisker, and their raids against the Isle of Skye, would remain safely hidden from the prying eyes of the Inner Sphere.

The Blessed Blake would have approved, right?

She bit down hard on the hollow tooth that ROM had implanted at the same time they put the concealed compartment in her calf.

She was crying freely now as the tooth shattered, filling her mouth with poisonous gas.

She heard McMillan come tumbling around the corner, expelling the gas from her mouth at the same time she heard the sharp report of his pistol.

Then everything went blissfully black.

-

Aboard the Blue Danube, the mood in the conference room was beyond grim. It was more solemn than a funeral. And in a way it was a funeral. Captain McMillan had asphyxiated on poison gas during a futile attempt to stop Julianna Rose from sabotaging the K-F drive coil. She had died from the gas as well, but not before successfully damaging the engine. Captain Forrester was just about to reveal the extent of the damage.

Forrester had a haggard, defeated look about him as he addressed the remaining command staff of the 69th. It was beginning to look a little thin around the table, but at least there was one face long absent returned. Captain Weddle had forcibly insisted on being present. He was confined to a wheel chair, and it was obvious he was still in pain from the way he grimaced each time he shifted in his seat, but at least he was there.

Dawg retained his status as acting CO.

Forrest spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "She knew exactly what she was doing. The coil is trashed. There is no hope for repair. The Danube is finished. She'll never jump again. There's nothing I can do that will change that."

He shook his head, the despair plainly evident.

Dawg took in the faces around the table. Forrester was obviously distraught. Weddle was looking angry when he wasn't wincing in pain. And, of course, Captain Salt had her game face on.

Morale was in the toilet, and he need to flush.

Dawg stood up, "We've all been in seemingly helpless situations before. And look at us." He looked each Captain hard in the eyes.

"We're all still here." He repeated himself louder. "WE'RE ****** ALL STILL ****** HERE! AREN'T WE?"

He slammed his fist down on the table.

Captain Salt cracked a smile. "I've been in worse, actually." Then she actually chuckled.

Forrester and Weddle turned, looking at her in surprise. She had actually smiled and laughed. The Ice Queen herself. Smiling and laughing.

Dawg gathered them all in with an intent gaze. "So we need a new JumpShip."

Now it was his turn to smile. "And it just so happens another JumpShip is due to arrive here sometime in the next week."

He growled. "Nothing makes me happier than the fact that we get another shot at ComStar. Make no mistake about it, we're going to finish what we started. We're going to eviscerate their remaining forces, take their JumpShip, and I have half a mind to Jump straight to Terra and finishing shoving it up their &^$%*(& ^%#!"

He smiled crookedly. "ComStar will rue the day they crossed the 69th."

-


	6. Book 6 - Return to Talikser

Chapter 1

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Precentor V-Rho Abilard Hesse stood on the bridge of the Skeiron, the Invader class JumpShip that had the honor of carrying his Level III-Zeta. They had just emerged from hyperspace at the zenith point of the hidden world of Talisker, their homebase.

The bridge was suddenly bathed in red as the proximity klaxons wailed.

He turned to Demi-Precentor X-Theta Ramsheki Valon, the captain of the Skeiron.

"Precentor, there is an unidentified Scout class JumpShip off of our starboard side. No DropShips are docked with it. Checking the long range scanners now."

Hesse responded, "Scramble the Ready 5's. This is likely the JumpShip used by the invading force we were warned off. Demi-Precentor, raise the Caduceus."

Adept IV-Alpha Douglas Wilder, the communications officer, interrupted. "I've been trying to get her, Demi-Precentor. There is no response, and the Caduceus's IFF transponders are out."

Valon ordered, "Adept, run an electromagnetic and visual scan of the Caduceus, and put them up on the secondary. I want the unidentified JumpShip on primary. Also see if you contact Krocylea."

"Yes, Demi-Precentor. It will take an estimated five minutes for our signal to reach the planet's surface."

Precentor Hesse cut in. "Open a hailing frequency to the unidentified JumpShip."

Precentor Abilard Hesse smoothed out his ComStar robes. "This is Precentor V-Rho Abilard Hesse of the ComGuards. Identify yourself immediately or be destroyed."

Seconds passed with no response.

Demi-Precentor Valon turned to address Hesse. "Precentor, there is no sign the JumpShip is preparing to engage its K-F drive. It's JumpSail is still deployed, although it is possible to Jump with the sail deployed."

Adept Wilder reported, "The Caduceus is on secondary. Major structural damage. The bridge appears to have been destroyed, the starboard small craft bay has also been severely damaged. I am however getting a low level electromagnetic reading from it. There must at least one power generator still in operation."

Valon interjected, "The Tomahawk and Rogue are now clear. What are your orders, Precentor?"

Precentor Hesse smiled. "Alpha squadron, weapons free. Have the Apheliotes and Aparctias initiate undocking procedures. There must be a DropShip somewhere. Anything from Krocylea? "

"No, Precentor. It is still too soon to have received a response yet from the planetary surface."

Valon watched the primary display. "The JumpShip is making no effort to evade, Precentor. Or even communicate."

Adept Wilder cut in. "Demi-Precentor, long range scanners have just picked up a spheroid class DropShip, likely a Union class based on mass."

Precentor Hesse's smile grew larger. "Excellent work, Adept. Report once you have determined their position and vector. Alpha Squadron, make a single pass over the Scout. Maybe that will wake them up."

Precentor Hesse watched with satisfaction as the two aerospace fighters strafed the JumpShip.

Apheliotes, a Leopard class DropShip, and the Aparctias, a Leopard CV which served as their aerospace fighter carrier, drifted into view as they undocked from the Skeiron. His own flagship, the Nessus, a Union Class, remained docked with the Skeiron.

Valon spoke up. "Still no response from the JumpShip, Precentor."

The Precentor nodded. "Very well. Alpha Squadron concentrate fire on the small craft bay door. Demi-Precentor, prepare the NL-42 boarding transport with two platoons of marines, and have the Aparctias launch Beta squadron as soon as she's clear."

Adept Wilder, the communications officer, interjected. "Precentor, I have a preliminary on the unidentified DropShip. It appears they are in the process of changing their heading. Initial scans show they were heading towards our current position at the zenith point. It now appears they are turning around and heading back to the planetary surface. They are approximately half way between our current position and Talisker."

The Precentor allowed himself a short laugh. "Of course they are. There have nowhere else to go now do they? What is that old Terran expression? Like shooting fish in a barrel?"

Demi-Precentor Valon turned to him. "The NL-42 is standing by. Alpha Squadron has punctured the small craft bay doors. The Aparctias is deploying Beta Squadron now. Still no sign of any activity from the Scout. "

Precentor Hesse "Launch the NL-42, and being boarding operations. Have Beta squadron cover the Scout, and vector Alpha squadron to conduct a detailed scan of the Caduceus."

Hesse stood like a statue as he watched the 200-ton spheroid assault transport burn towards the Scout escorted by a squadron of aerospace fighters. The JumpShip remained stationary even as they approached.

It deployed its magnetic grapples, pulling itself alongside the JumpShip as it prepared to use it tug adapter to breech the hull.

As it attached itself to the hull of the Scout, the JumpShip suddenly trembled. The Precentor watched on in surprise as line of explosions stitched its way along the long slender hull of JumpShip, and then abruptly the entire ship exploded like a miniature star, the bridge viewport polarizing to protect the crew from the star like brightness.

As the viewport dimmed it revealed a morass of floating detritus. All sign of the JumpShip and transport were gone. Aerospace fighters buzzed around the debris field like angry wasps, but there was nothing to sting.

The Precentor growled, turning abruptly. "I'm boarding the Nessus, prepare my DropShip for immediate departure."

Chapter 2

3046  
Talisker  
Draconis Combine

Captain Dawg was supremely unhappy. This entire operation was turning into one big steaming pile. Their JumpShip, the Blue Danube was no more. They had rigged it with explosives after the ComStar Adept Julianna Rose had escaped and sabotaged its drive coil.

The only silver lining, and it was a thin one, was that it had taken out the ComStar boarding party with it. Of course, now he had three pissed of ComStar DropShips full of 'Mechs furiously burning towards him as they hightailed it back to the planetary surface.

He turned to Captain Salt. "Can't you make this bucket of bolts go any faster?"

Salt looked at him flatly. "That depends on whether or not you actually intend to land on the surface in one piece, Dawg."

Dawg scowled as he prowled across the bridge, barking into his comset. "Lt. Hamilton, what's the status of the 'Mechs?"

"The same as it was when you asked 20 minutes ago. I'm slapping armor back on my Highlander. Virote, Walther and Damaad are working on the Atlas and one of the Archers. The Hatchetman and the other Archer are already good to go. They should all be 100% by the time we make planet fall. If you want anything more, you're gonna have to get Sigil down here in the hangar."

Captain Salt raised her eyebrows, giving Dawg a silent, questioning look.

Dawg shook his head, shrugging helplessly. "He's been curled up in a ball, practically catatonic since that girl did her little number on the K-F drive. He refuses to leave the detention cell."

Salt executed an abrupt about face and left the bridge.

-

Sigil was in a fetal position on the floor of the detention cell. As many times as Lt. Cordova had tried to remove his waist chain and handcuffs, Sigil had refused. He just lay there, feeling the cool steel flooring against his skin. A few uneaten plates of food were his only company.

He heard the clicking of stiletto heels coming his way, but even that failed to rouse him. He knew who it was, and frankly, he didn't care.

A pair of shiny red pumps stopped near his head, as a feminine voice sneered.

"You make me sick, Private. Awww. What? You're depressed because your little girl friend turned out to be a ROM agent?"

She shoved her foot under his chest, unceremoniously flipping him over. "That little whore not only screwed you, she screwed the entire unit."

She rested her wickedly pointed heel against his crotch. "So, what are you going to do about it, 'Tech?"

She smiled evilly as she began to apply pressure. "Because if you don't get your ass up right now, and get down to the 'Mech hangar, I'm going to make sure you never screw anyone ever again."

Sigil looked up at Salt's grinning face, blinking rapidly.

"So, what do you say, 'Tech?" She pressed harder, the point of her heel beginning to dig into his sensitive region.

Sigil began squirming under her, her grin only growing larger as she twisted her heel in deeper. Sigil shuddered involuntarily.

She actually looked like she was enjoying herself.

"Uhh… that kinda hurts?"

Salt narrowed her eyes dangerously.

Sigil knew immediately he'd said the wrong thing.

With a smirk, Salt drug her heel roughly down, bending the tip of her foot, and then planting a merciless kick right between his thighs.

Sigil curled up like a roly-poly, desperately gasping for breath and moaning in excruciating pain as he flopped across the floor.

Salt bent down, grabbing him by his hair, and dragging him struggling to his knees.

She smiled sweetly at him. "So, what do you say, 'Tech?"

Sigil's mouth opened and closed a few times without making a sound.

Again Salt's eyes tightened dangerously.

But this time, Sigil was ready and managed a weak response. "Umm… Can I get a wrench?"

Salt's face relaxed. But then, out of nowhere, she landed a vicious backhand that sent him spinning in a complete circle on his knees, crashing to the floor as stars exploded all across his vision.

"You're mine, 'Tech. Don't you ever, EVER, forget it. You better be in that 'Mech hangar in five, or I'm stuffing you in the waste reclamation system so can you can be ejected with all the rest of the useless &^%$."

-

Lt. Hamilton, Lt. Isamu, Corporal Southers, Corporal Radhow and Corporal Damaad all turned as Private Sigil came limping into the 'Mech Hangar, clinging desperately to a wrench.

Hamilton came down from the lift where he had been replacing the holes in his Highlander's Grumman-3 armor. He looked decidedly angry, and his hands were balled up in fists as he stalked across the bay towards Sigil.

He shoved Sigil roughly backwards. "What's your problem, man? You think you can just cruise back in here after the shit you pulled?! We should have been on our way back to Galatea with a hold full of Star League 'Tech right now, not running for our ****** lives from a fleet of ComStar DropShips!"

Again he shoved him, rougher this time. Sigil stumbled, tripped, and went down on hard on his butt. The other 69th MechWarriors stopped what they were doing to watch.

Sigil looked up at Hamilton from the floor. "Look, man, I'm sorry, OK?"

Hamilton glared at him, his meaty arms crossed against his chest. "Ya, well, sorry ain't gonna cut it, Sig. Sorry ain't gonna amount to squat when we have to take the field against four to one odds. Do you even know what's out there? A Union and pair of Leopards are burning flame towards us right now. That's twenty, Two-Zero, 'Mechs gonna come hunt us down. And whadda we got?"

Hamilton gestured around the hangar. "Five operational 'Mechs and a hangar full of scrap."

He counted them off with the fingers of his left hand. "My Highlander, Virote's Hatchetman, Souther's Atlas, and Damaad and Radhow's Archers. Count 'em, Sig. Five."

Lt. Virote Isamu walked across the hangar towards them. "Ease up, Hamilton. We need all the help we can get right about now. Pushing him around isn't going to solve anything."

Hamilton turned, addressing Isamu. "Ya, sure, come to his defense. What are you, another member of his frickin' fan club? What, he can't take care of himself?"

Hamilton's eyes returned to Sigil, who was still on the floor. "Time to man-up, Sig. You better get some of this scrap running again. I don't plan on dying for nobody. Especially you."

With one last heated look, Hamilton turned, walking back across the hangar towards his Highlander muttering. "This is bullshit."

-

Chapter 3

3046  
Talisker  
Draconis Combine

Sigil looked over the pair of salvaged 35-ton Night Hawks in the 'Mech hangar of the Snowmane. They would make planet fall in two days, shortly followed by a trio of pursuing ComStar DropShips. That gave him four days max to start working miracles.

Hmm. Well, he definitely had the parts he needed between the two of them. Probably take two days just to rebuild the torso and get the engine back online. After that, reattach the arm, patch up the structure and armor. Then it ought to be good to go. Still, that was a lot of work.

He rubbed his chin, as he inevitably found his way to the bay holding his Assassin and the Spector. The Spector's left torso was gone, a victim of Hamilton's gauss rifle, but thankfully they had taken the severed left arm during the salvage operations.

The story was about the same. Rebuild the torso, fix the Magna 245 XL, reattach the arm, patch the armor. Of course, he'd have to deal with a pair of jump jet exhaust ports, but given all the salvage around him, including his Assassin, it looked doable. But, he would have to rebuild the torso with endo steel, and that stuff was a pain to work with. Incredibly strong, yes, but also surprisingly brittle, which made a challenge.

Lastly, he walked up to the bay holding the 100-ton Pillager. It was missing its right torso, the right arm had been severed off, and what remained of the left arm was lying on the floor. Hmm. They actually had a spare M-7 gauss rifle he'd stocked for Hamilton's Highlander, and they certainly had enough ammunition for it. It wasn't a Poland Main Model A, but the massive weapon basically filled the entire torso, so it didn't really matter. Actually it was easier to deal with than an arm mount anyway. The jump jet ports all looked in good shape.

What had Hamilton said? He had better get some of this scrap running again? Well, a 100-ton assault 'Mech seemed like a good start. He'd play with the Spector if he had time later.

He called out across the bay. "Hey, Virote, I'm gonna need a hand. Actually, I'm gonna need a few. See if you can draft four or five of Dawg's men to serve as Astechs. And your Hatchetman's got two hand actuators, you wanna drive it for me? I've got some heavy lifting that's gonna need doing."

He chuckled. "You can leave the hatchet, I don't think you'll need it for this."

-

Dawg was sitting across from Captain Salt in her stateroom. Captain Weddle, now semi-mobile on crutches, had joined them for the meeting of the command staff.

Salt opened the meeting. "I've got good news and bad news, Dawg. Sanchez says one of the ComStar Leopards changed headings and appears to be keeping station by their JumpShip up at the zenith point. Good for us, bad for Zardetto's team. That leaves a Union and the other Leopard on our six."

Dawg frowned. "That throws a wrench in Zardetto's plans, but there's nothing for it, and we've got plenty of our own problems to deal with. He's a big boy, he'll figure something out."

"I've been reviewing our TOE. Looks like we'll have seven functional 'Mechs when we land. Sigil's working on the Pillager now and he's got Corporal Radhow and Corporal Damaad trying to make one Night Hawk out of two. Thing is, we've only got six 'Mech jocks."

Weddle grimaced as he straightened up. "Seven. I'll have the medic weld, pin, splint, cast, whatever it takes to get my leg back together. I'll load up my stimpak with heavy duty painkillers, and I'll be good to go. Stick me in one of the Archers. All I've got to stand there and lob LRM's anyway." He managed a short chuckle.

Dawg gave him a long appraising look before finally nodding in acknowledgment. "I also want to reclaim those two LRM carriers we left behind, but that means landing near the ComStar base. However, fighting out in the open isn't likely to favor us."

He looked over at Salt. "Can we retrieve them, take back off and land in another location? I've been reviewing the satellite imagery and I'd like to put our back to some kind of geography so we can dictate their approach. And, hopefully, still have to time to prep the battlefield prior to engaging."

Dawg handed Salt a datapad. "There's large natural body of water not too far from the base that has a small peninsula. I'd like the Snowmane to land there. If we retrieve the LRM carriers, how long are we likely to have before the ComStar forces land?"

Salt thought about it for a few minutes as she swiped across the datapad. "Less than 24 hours, and they would know our exact position. If they increase their burn rate, maybe as few as 6 hours. I'm maintaining slightly over 1 G to accommodate the work going on in the 'Mech bay. I could increase our velocity, but it would make the work significantly more difficult."

Weddle spoke up. "Those LRM carriers are worth it Dawg. You're talking six LRM-20's. That's some serious fire support. Station the two Archer's on either side of them, are you're talking about raining some serious pain."

Dawg looked at them both. "Ok. We grab the carriers, and then you proceed on to the peninsula. When we land to get the carriers, I'm going to deploy my two squads and station the Drillson and both Maxim hover transports."

He grinned slyly. "Once we land, I'm going to be incommunicado. I'm going to be running a little side operation, which brings up the last issue. The chain of command."

He looked directly at Captain Salt. "Captain Salt will serve as Commanding Officer. I'm field promoting Hamilton to Leutnant Commander. Lt. Commander Hamilton will be in command of the 'Mech and armor assets. He will also serve as the Executive Officer."

Dawg turned next to Captain Weddle. "Make no mistake, I'm putting you in a 'Mech because there simply isn't anybody else, but I don't want you in the chain of command. Not with the heavy drugs you'll likely be on. I can't have someone making the calls whose judgment is in anyway impaired."

Weddle nodded mutely.

Dawg continued, "One last thing."

He fixed Salt with a steely glare. "If we can't hold the field, Captain Salt, you are too launch immediately and make best possible speed to the zenith point. We've got boys up there too, remember. If that means leaving us behind, so be it. We all knew the risks when we joined. Is that clear?"

Salt meet his gaze, matching it with equal intensity. "Once we land, I'm the CO, Dawg. I'll make whatever damn well call I think is best."

The two unflinchingly stared each other down.

It was Dawg who finally relented. "Fair enough. Now, I need you to show me a few things about the Union class. Specifically, I want a detailed breakdown on the altitude jets."

-

The Snowmane would be making its initial landing adjacent to the former ComStar base within hours.

Lt. Commander Hamilton stood looking up the grizzled form of the 100-ton Pillager. Without turning, he asked Private Sigil, "Is it combat ready?"

Sigil yawned and nodded. "Ya, pretty much. It's as good as I can make it. Thank Our Blessed Founder it doesn't have an endo steel chassis or use that new ferro-fibrous armor. That stuff is a bitch to work with it. The M-7 actually went in pretty easy, too. I fired it up to check my work on the Vlar 300 XL, it umm… throws out a little extra heat, but no big deal. Not like it has a problem with heat anyway."

Sigil looked up at the imposing, clawed monolith. "Thank Our Blessed Founder its got jump jets. Otherwise I wouldn't be excited about piloting that monster," Sigil smirked.

Hamilton turned, his eyebrows furrowed, fury building on his face. "If I EVER hear you say 'Blessed Founder' again, I will personally send you on an express JumpShip straight to him where you can say hello to that Striker pilot I sent him last."

"Besides, you're not piloting it. I'm assigning Lt. Isamu to pilot it."

Sigil's head whipped around. "What!? Whadda you mean, I'm not piloting it?! I just finished working my tail off 18 hours days to rebuild it! This is MY 'Mech! Besides, since when do you handle the assignments?"

Hamilton pointed to a starburst on his collars, with a smart grin. "When I got these, I got the responsibility for making all the 'Mech assignments. In the future, I expect you to address me properly, Private."

Chuckling, Hamilton went on to explain. "I need someone dependable in that 'Mech. Which rules you completely out. If I had my way, I wouldn't even put you in a 'Mech. As it is, we're desperate, so you'll be piloting the Hatchetman."

"The Hatchetman!?" Sigil exclaimed. "Come on! You know I hate that 'Mech! Kerensky! How many times did Weddle mop the floor with me in that thing on the training grounds?"

Hamilton looked at him flatly. "At least try to soak up a few rounds before you go off and do something totally stupid, Sig."

Both men turned their heads as Lt. Isamu approached. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"Did I hear that correctly, Commander Hamilton? I'm going to be piloting the Pillager?"

Hamilton nodded. "That's right, Leutnant. Say hello to your new ride."

He turned back to Sigil. "Perform a full combat check on the Night Hawk Corporal Radhow and Corporal Damaad were working on."

Hamilton grinned. "If it doesn't check out, you won't have a ride at all, Private."

-

Sigil walked away from the Night Hawk. Walther and Damaad had done a solid job. Not that it really should have been much of a challenge. With two Night Hawks, they had ready access to all the correct parts. It was more a matter of assembling than repairing really.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'd trust their work if I had to pilot it, Sigil thought to himself as he crossed the bay towards the Hatchetman. But it was good enough to get through the upcoming fight.

At least the Hatchetman doesn't have an Extralight engine. The bays were full of 'Mechs disabled by damage to their XL engines. No way he'd pilot that Night Hawk. Not with an XL in it.

He stopped in front of Lizze Borden. Kerensky! He just couldn't seem to escape this cursed 'Mech. His hand snaked down his thigh, and suddenly he noticed his Sternsacht was missing.

His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't thought about it since McMillan had him thrown in the brig. He'd have to find it before they hit the ground. It was his good luck charm. No way he was going to face three or four to one odds without it.

He looked up at the 45-ton 'Mech, lost in thought. The main problem was that it was too slow. It topped out at 65 klicks. Hell, Southers' fat Atlas went almost that fast.

It was hopelessly under powered with its paltry GM 180. Even the lowly Locust had 160 LTV, which was practically the same size.

It did have Luxor 2/Q jump jets though.

Hmm. His eyes drifted over the remains of his 40-ton Assassin. Well, there wasn't anything he could do about the engine, not this late in the game at least. But…

-

Lt. Virtoe Isamu crinkled her eyebrows as she watched Sigil up on a lift cutting a hole in the back of her former Hatchetman. What the hell was he doing?

The remains of his Assassin were scattered across the floor of the 'Mech bay.

She called up to him. "Hey, Sigil! What are you doing?"

Sigil lowered the lift. She recognized the mania in his eyes, as he hopped out bubbling over with excitement.

He gushed. "I got it all figured out! I'm a frickin' genius, I tell you! I just don't know where I get this kind of inspiration!"

He strutted around gleefully. "One word. Lox Lifters."

Virote rolled her eyes. "That's two words, Sigil. And what the hell are you talking about, anyway?"

Sigil energetically waved her off. "Whatever, whatever. The point is, I've pulled a couple of the Lox Lifter exhaust ports off the back of my old Assassin, and I'm putting them onto Lizzie here."

He elatedly rubbed his hands together. "This baby's gonna jump a full 180 meters, just like my old Clint. Can you imagine? She's gonna be a terror! And you know, the TharHes Ares-8a isn't really that bad of a T&T system. Full 360 degree scanning, IR, EL, and motion modes. And that Imperator Code Red LB autocannon isn't exactly a shabby piece of tech either. Especially not considering the built in Mercury-VII targeting system."

He held his hands up as he just kept babbling on. "Wait, wait, I already know what you thinking. Where am I going to get the extra thrust."

He paused looking around conspiratorially. "It's an old trick. I just weakened the containment field on that piece of crap GM 180 that's in there. That juiced the output by a good 10%, it's practically like a Nissan 200 in there now."

Virote's eyes widened in horror.

He suddenly stopped, his eyes looking right through her, then snapping back to her. "You know, I bet that will get her up to, say, maybe around 72 kp/h. I hadn't even thought of that! Anyway, I gotta get back to work. I'm running short on time!"

Virote watched as Sigil shot up the lift. Kerensky! What had Lt. Commander Hamilton said?

She shook her head, Sigil didn't even need to get on the battlefield to do something stupid.

-

The Snowmane landed once again on the plains of Talisker.

Dawg's unit deployed out as they loaded the two LRM carriers left behind when the 69th had originally departed. His two platoons in full sneak suits loaded aboard the two Maxim hover transports, as Dawg clambered into the cockpit of the Drillson McMillan had piloted before his death.

In minutes, they had disappeared, and Captain Salt was preparing to launch once again.

Salt looked out over the recent battlefield, her view slowly cut off as blast shields closed.

It might look like a paradise, but this place was turning out be Hell.

-

Chapter 4

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

The lake stretched out for miles, its glistening blue waters calling out seductively to the members of the 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force. The Snowmane had settled onto the peninsula, and the ComStar DropShips were only hours away from entering the atmosphere.

One after another, various personnel gathered unbidden outside the Union class DropShip, called by the siren song of the water. MechWarriors, technicians, engineers, medics, all who remained from those who had departed from Galatea almost a full year ago.

The absences were glaringly obvious. The Colonel remained in a coma, and McMillan and Lagemann were both dead. The entire company of infantry was either hiding somewhere out there in the plains with Dawg, or hiding aboard the ruins of the space station with Zardetto.

As Corporal Marshall Southers surveyed the scene, they looked like a small, tired, desperate rag-tag band of survivors.

Which, Southers reflected, was exactly what they were.

As he stood looking out over the crystal blue waters, he saw Virote Isamu begin walking, tentatively at first, then picking up speed, towards the golden sands of the beach.

First one, then another, slowly began following behind her. Then, he too felt the magnetic pull of the waters, and without thinking, took his first steps towards the gently lapping waves.

By the time he arrived, the beach was littered with discarded clothes as over a dozen people frolicked about in the lake.

Hamilton yelled out, "Chicken Fight!" as he scooped Virote up onto his broad shoulders.

Walther followed suit, as Damaad clambered onto his shoulders, and the two combatants began circling each other.

"You wouldn't hit a girl, would you?" Virote taunted.

Walther lunged forward in the water, and then Damaad and Virote began to grapple.

"Five C-Bills on the Snake!" someone yelled out.

"Ten C-bills on the rookie!" another voice called out from the waters.

Hamilton spread his feet out, the sand sucking in around them, as he braced his stocky form. "Kick his ass, Virote!"

Walther faced down his lancemate, arcing his feet to give Damaad and even greater height advantage over the diminutive former Combine warrior.

Hamilton flexed his knees, causing Virote to drop even lower, and bulled in.

Her tight grip on his foreman, combined with Walther's rise and Hamilton's drop, caused Damaad to teeter precariously atop Walther's shoulder, and with a satisfying tug, she sent him crashing into the water below.

She brought her legs up, shifting to standing fully upright atop Hamilton's shoulders. "Whose next!? And who called me a 'snake'!?" She looked around in mock fury.

Grinning, Walther swept his leg out under the water, hitting Hamilton right behind the knee.

Hamilton's leg buckled, causing Virote's foot to slip, and she fell awkwardly on her back into the water with a huge splash, her face full of surprise.

Laughter burst out, mingling with the sounds of splashing, and for a moment the terrible calamities of war were left on the beach to dry.

Southers' smiled, wading into the water as Virote surfaced. "I'm next! I can't allow a Drac to claim the title!"

-

Captain Salt watched from the almost deserted bridge of the Snowmane. Only Spanner had remained behind with her.

His gravelly voice scraped out, breaking the silence. "Let 'em have their fun, Varukka. Kerensky knows they deserve it. They've been through the wringer and hung up wet, and they're gonna have to do it again. It's hard on a man, to get so close, only to have to stolen from right under yer nose. We shoulda been on our way to Galatea right about now, instead of facing another firefight."

Spanner growled. "It was that ****** boy of yours, Varukka. Landed us in this steaming hot pile."

She turned to look at his ugly, squat form, allowing her ever present game face to slip away. Spanner had been with her since the beginning. He'd been the one who helped her escape Warrior House Matsukai when things had gone sour with the Shiao-zhang.

Spanner raised one of his bushy red eyebrows as Salt looked at him. He recognized the look.

Scowling, Spanner waved her off. "Ok, fine, whatever. He's down in the 'Mech bay. I'll keep an eye on things up here."

He was still muttering and mumbling to himself as she left the bridge.

-

Precentor V-Rho Abilard Hesse surveyed the destruction of Krocylea, their former base, from the cockpit of his 95-ton NSR-9J Nightstar. His face blazed with undisguised fury, his knuckles bone white from the vise-like grip he had on his control sticks.

Carrion eaters scattered at his 'Mechs approach, disturbed from their feasting on the bodies of his former comrades. They had been left to rot where they had fallen. Soldiers, engineers, technicians, and support personnel alike had been slaughtered wholesale. The base itself was utterly destroyed.

It was scorched earth at its worst. He fumed in silence. He had been taught to expect this from the degenerates that now raged unchecked across the Inner Sphere, but to see it first hand was a visceral shock.

The barbarism, the blatant disregard for life, the wanton destruction of advanced technology. The lack of even the pretense of civility, or even morality, made him sick.

He raged in his cockpit. They hadn't even had the basic human decency to bury the bodies!

The people who had done this were vermin. Worse than vermin. They were the vultures of the Inner Sphere, picking at the torn flesh of the Star League, eager for scrap of putrid flesh. Scavengers of the lowest order.

He opened his comlink. "Look upon the work of our enemies, and know them by their deeds! Our Blessed Founder calls upon us to rid the Inner Sphere of this kind of filth! Bury our fallen comrades, my followers, and then we shall swoop down upon the workers of this evil with righteous vengeance! They have set the terms, and we shall rise to meet them. No quarter shall be given to these brutish, vile savages!"

He turned his Nightstar away from the grisly scene, as his men began the gruesome work of interring the dead.

-

"Whirly-One. I've got eighteen, repeat One-Eight, 'Mechs on approach to the peninsula. Two aerospace assets inbound, I'm heading back to the Coop. Good luck, over and out."

Lt. Commander Hamilton had broken down their meager forces into three short lances. They were positioned mid-way up the peninsula, funneling the approaching ComStar forces directly towards them.

In true Lyran fashion, he had only a single unit capable of speeds greater than 65 kp/h, and even that wasn't really his, it was the salvaged ComStar Night Hawk. To the extent possible, he hoped the relatively narrow peninsula would help offset their lack of mobility.

He anchored the center, his Highlander flanked by both Walther and Weddle's -5R Archers. To his left, Lt. Isamu held the ground in her imposing 100-ton -3Z Pillager. Immediately behind her were the two LRM carriers they had reclaimed from the battlefield when they were forced to land back on Talisker. Off on his right, Corporal Southers' Atlas was guarded by Sigil in a Hatchetman, and Damaad, newly assigned to the Night Hawk.

He frowned. It looked a bit thin over there.

His Starlight LX-1 began to light up with targets as the ComStar forces advanced. He had originally wanted to fight under the protective umbrella of the Snowmane's formidable weaponry, but circumstances had forced his hand.

Too slow to launch an attack of any kind, he'd been reduced to presenting a tempting target to the enemy in order to draw them out. Time was absolutely critical. Every hour that passed only increased the already considerable chance of something going wrong.

If Dawg's forces were discovered, they'd be slaughtered to a man. And there was a limit to how long Zardetto's men could remain hidden aboard the space station. For all he knew, they might already have been discovered and wiped out.

He shook his head. Thankfully he was out of time to dwell on the myriad of things which could go catastrophically astray. He had half a battalion of 'Mechs staring him down right now. At least that was a problem he could do something about.

He flipped his com open. "Time to dance, boy and girls. Pick your partner. I'm gonna take that fat one there, the one that looks like an ugly Marauder." He chuckled.

Lt. Isamu chimed in next. "Looks like another day at the beach to me, Commander. I'm starting with that trio of Crabs, that big one first. Crab cakes on me after the party! They'll be more than enough for everyone judging from the size of that big mama!" She laughed.

Sigil was next. "Aww, man. And all I get is another Excalibur. You guys are serious glory hogs! Geez. Leave something nice for the rest of us, would ya!"

Corporal Southers broke into the banter, snorting. "I wouldn't worry, Sigil, looks like there plenty to go around to me."

-

Chapter 5

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Lt. Commander Hamilton gritted his teeth as the ComStar Level II, led by a 95-ton Nightstar advanced on his short lance. He would hold a range advantage for mere seconds, so it was imperative he make it count. "Walther, Weddle, focus fire on the Nightstar, the Thug is the secondary."

To either side, two other Level II's were advancing against his flanks.

As they closed to within 600 meters, his small command unleashed a devastating volley of fire. Eighty LRMs simultaneously took flight instantly filling the air with missile entrails. His massive M-7 vomited forth it's deadly silver projectile, as both Archers added one of their twin Victory Nickel extended range large lasers to the initial barrage.

Meeting the onslaught head on, the Nightstar unleashed its dual Gauss rifles and an ER PPC as the Thug's thick arms rocked back from firing its Tiegart particle cannons. An incredible stream of tracers filled the intervening space as the small 40-ton Sentinel triggered its KWI AC/5 Ultra autocannon. The blocky 80-ton Shootist added a single ER heavy laser to the mix, as it sought to close in anticipation of bringing its infamous Deathgiver into play.

Explosions covered the ComStar command 'Mech, as it absorbed brutal volley after volley, the gauss slug burying itself in its thickly armored right leg, as lasers melted armor from both arms. But it refused to be slowed, even by that much firepower, and it powered on ahead undeterred.

Hamilton's Highlander shuddered as one of the Nightstar's slugs nailed his right torso, followed by another strike from its particle cannon his left. Then another from the Thug, and in seconds his left torso was reduced to just a half ton of armor protecting it.

For a moment, his bowels tightened, as he faced the possibility he would, for the first time, be unable to hold. Then he shoved the thought aside, as his M-7 chambered another punishing round. No. He would hold, ******!

Unaware he was screaming, he triggered his com. "Backwards! Maintain maximum distance for as long as possible!"

Still screaming in his cockpit, his short lance sent another full barrage at the Nightstar. Again the 95-ton 'Mech disappeared beneath a cloud of missile strikes, his slug and the heavy lasers from the Archers disappearing into the cloud. And again the Nightstar emerged from the other side, the armor covering its right leg and left arm now at least stripped away.

Then both rounds from Nightstar's gauss rifle ripped into his right leg, followed by one of the Tiegarts. Autocannon fire sprinkling across his chest, as one of arms took another PPC strike, the other the heavy laser from the approaching Shootist.

And just like that the world began tilting crazily. He couldn't believe what was happening. Impossible! But the loss of over three tons of armor, combined the damage to the structure underneath in a single crippling strike was simply too much. The ground rushed up to meet him, and with a resounding boom, the 90-ton 'Mech toppled to the ground for the first time.

-

Virote was consumed by a single thought. The King Crab. It had to go down before it got close enough to bring its legendary dual Deathgiver AC/20's into play. Even a single volley from the fabled 'Mech was enough to bring down just about any 'Mech in existence.

Then, again, she was piloting a legend herself. She smiled. She had waited a long time to be put into the fight. The Colonel always seemed to have found a reason to put her on babysitting duty. But not this time, and she was determined to show everyone just exactly how good she really was. Only Sigil had seen her action.

She giggled. They had tried, and failed, to kill each twice back on the arena in Galatea.

She surveyed the approaching ComStar forces aligned against her. Besides the King Crab, there were two babies, a Wyvern, a Kintaro and a Bombardier. She squinted her eyes in thought. Something about that Kintaro and Bombardier pair tickled her mind, but she couldn't quite place what it was.

She banished the thought as the approaching 'Mechs came into range of her paired gauss rifles. I don't care how big that Crab is, no way it can sustain the kind of punishment I'm about to deal.

She triggered them both, as she was silhouetted by the fire from the LRM carriers backing her up. She saw her slugs hit the King Crab's right arm and right leg before it was totally obscured by the 120 LRMs exploding all around it.

A combined total of seventy LRM's came arcing down towards her as the ComStar forces advanced on her position. The Pillager absorbed them with barely a thought. There was no 'Mech that carried more armor than the beast she piloted. As she watched it take the missile strikes, she was struck with a new appreciation for what the Colonel had accomplished when he had taken in down days earlier. Of course, it had cost Lagemann his life, and the Colonel himself was barely in better shape.

"Begin pulling back. Keep distance. Continue targeting the big Crab."

Another awe inspiring flight of 120 LRM's rained down on the advancing Crab, as she again added her dual gauss rifles to the fray. The King Crab disappeared again under the brutal barrage.

Her own Pillager simply ate up the incoming missile strikes without missing a beat.

When the smoke cleared, the King Crab was down, a gleaming silver slug buried where it's cockpit had once been.

"Crab Cakes on the house! The King has fallen! Switch targets to the Bombardier. Those twenty racks are starting to annoy me."

-

Sigil was tickled. He hadn't seen the Talon, Mongoose, or Thorn before. And he'd studied the hell outta the Champion blue prints they'd captured back on Alshain, but he'd never seen one of those before either. And hell, they had their own Night Hawk now, and they'd dropped an Excalibur in their previous engagement with ComStar.

"Hey guys, that Excalibur has an XL in it. Just drop the torso on it like we did on the last one, and it'll shut right down. And so does that Night Hawk. Those things are easy kills. Oh, yeah… uh, sorry about that Damaad. I'm just saying, I wouldn't want to umm… pilot one. Not sure about that Talon, maybe. Don't really know it that well. Looks like it's got a big gun on it though."

Southers cut in. "Try to stick close, and let me soak up the damage. My Atlas is good at that. So, we're taking down the Excalibur first, then the 'Hawk? That right?"

Damaad entered the conversation. "You know, Corporal Southers, you outrank the Private there unless someone changed the ranks without telling me."

Southers grimaced in his cockpit. He was so used to taking orders from the Colonel, that it hadn't even occurred to him that he was the senior officer in the short lance.

He recovered quickly. "Primary is the Excalibur, secondary is the Night Hawk. Use me for cover."

Damaad answered quickly back, "Yes, sir."

In the cockpit of his Hatchetman, Sigil rolled his eyes. When would someone finally understand how he liked to operate? Oh well, he'd use the Atlas to soak damage until someone targeted him at least.

As the Level II closed, Southers opened up with his Doombud LRM-20. It was followed seconds later by Damaad's Maxell ER large laser, and then by Sigil's Imperator Code Red LB 10-X autocannon.

The ComStar 'Mechs returned fire, the Excalibur's Grizzard and Ingrid LRM-20 opening the return salvo. The Champion added its own Lubalin Ballistics autocannon, followed by the Talon's PPC, the 'Hawks ER large, and finally the Thorn added its Zeus LRM-5 launcher to the mix.

Damaad's laser melted a half of ton of armor from the Excalibur's left arm, as Sigil's slug following it in. Blue sparks erupted from the upper arm of the 70-ton 'Mech as one of its arm actuators was destroyed. Southers' missiles clustered low, stripping armor from the thinly armored right leg.

The Atlas took the gauss round center mass, as a full flight of LRM's exploded across it's thickly armored hide. The Talon's PPC struck the massive 'Mech's right arm, but it still way too early in the game for the Atlas to be in any trouble.

The Talon and the Mongoose suddenly accelerated, quickly reaching 130 kp/h as they raced ahead of their lancemates.

Sigil, noticing their charge, shoved the throttle of his 45-ton Hatchetman to max, sprinting straight towards them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he tracked his speed as Lizzie quickly accelerated past 40 kp/h, then 60, before topping out close to 75. He grinned not bad, he'd squeezed in extra 10 klicks or so out of her.

Behind him Southers' launched his Doombud once again, as Damaad fired his Hawk's ER large. But Sigil's eyes were fixed on the 35-ton Talon rushing straight towards him, flanked by the Mongoose. He thumbed his Code Red as it returned fire with its particle cannon. Then both 'Mechs fired the medium lasers paired in their left arms.

The Code Red crushed the armor on the right torso, as his mediums struck the right leg and left torso. Lizzie's left side jerked back as the PPC slammed into his torso, one the mediums carving armor for the right side as well. The Mongoose added its firepower scoring hits to his left leg and another to the right torso.

He brought Lizzie's deadly hatchet back as they rushed headlong towards each other, swinging it with bone shattering force as the two fast light 'Mechs attempted to blow right past him. Lizzie was physically twisted around as her hatchet buried itself in the Talon's already damaged right torso, emerging from its back a fraction of second later, severing its right arm and sending it spinning crazily across ground ahead of it.

The Talon face planted at 130 kp/h, skidding on its ravaged chest for over 100 meters before coming to stop as a pile of smoking rubble. Score one for Lizzie.

He whirled her back around, watching as Southers' LRMs struck the Excalibur all along its left side, Damaad's heavy laser sending melted armor pouring off its right arm. But he'd gotten too close to the remaining four ComStar 'Mechs, he realized as the Night Hawk nailed his left arm with its standard heavy. He glanced at the rangefinder 300 meters.

Southers' Atlas took another gauss slug to center mass, as the Excalibur's LRMs exploded all across his chest. Another slug, this time from the Champion's autocannon, richoetted off his right arm, and he barely noticed the Night Hawk's extended range heavy hitting his right leg.

Another slug to his chest, and they'd be into structure, he grimaced.

-

Walther saw Hamilton go down, and knew what he had to do. He slammed his Archer out of reverse, sending the 70-ton 'Mech trundling forward, stepping out in front of the downed Highlander and bracing himself.

He dropped his reticle over the Nightstar, unleashing an alpha strike, heat flooding his cockpit instantly as the dual FarFires and both Victory Nickels reached out to meet the oncoming ComStar assault 'Mech. Weddle's LRMs arced down towards it as well, from behind him, as Hamilton struggled to get his Highlander back up.

His lasers stabbed into the structure of the left arm, the other scorching its leg. Then the cloud of LRMs descended onto the beast. Again it was covered in a plethora of exploding warheads, as Southers held his breath. Weddle's heavy laser disappeared into the cloud, but yet again the Nightstar emerged. It was ravaged, internal structure was visible practically everywhere, and there couldn't have been more than a ton of armor left on the brute, but still it came on, proving just how functional it still was by sending it guass rifles and PPC streaking towards the Archer.

The Nightstar pilot's aim was uncanny. A pair of slugs penetrated deep into his left leg as he took the particle cannon to his chest. One of the Thug's Tiegarts hit his right torso as the Sentinel stitched a line across his left with its high speed autocannon. The Shootist's extended range heavy struck his left arm, as the Starslayer throttled up preparing to bring its weaponry to bear.

And he suddenly understood exactly what had happened to Hamilton, as he felt is left leg buckle under him, spilling him to the ground.

Hamilton was kneeling on the ground, having just gotten his legs back under him, as he saw Walther take a pair of slugs to his leg. As the Archer crashed to the ground in front of him, he stood back up.

It was time for the Nightstar to die. The M-7 barked out another silver slug, it struck the 95-ton colossus solidly in the chest. Engine coolant began pouring from the gaping hole in its chest, as his Artemis enhanced Holly 20 rack struck with incredible accuracy. All twenty warheads stuck the assault 'Mech, clustering heavily along it rights side.

With a blinding flash, the capacitor in its arm exploded in a spectacular torrent of intense electrical energy. The discharge spidered over its right side, arcing and crackling, as the entire right half collapsed in on itself from the violent excess energy. With a groan, the 'Mech collapsed, sprawled out face first, still throwing off sparks.

-

"This is Whirly-Two! Inbound aerospace attack! Two craft appear to be vectoring on the LRM carriers!"

Lt. Virote Isamu snarled. Dammit! There was nothing she could do about it. She simply couldn't afford to waste shots at such fast moving targets. "Whirly-One, Whirly- Two, can you take some the heat? I got my hands full down here!"

"We'll do what we can, Leutnant."

The two Crabs and the Kintaro now accelerated towards her position, the Bombardier and Wyvern content for the moment to continue providing fire support. Once they got within range with their heavy lasers, those Crabs would be a problem.

"Steady, keep pulling back. Focus fire on the Bombardier."

She sent a pair of silver slugs streaking across the battlefield at the famous 65-ton fire support 'Mech. Behind her another 120 LRM's took flight at the same target. The Bombardier rocked backwards as the first slug hit it dead center, the second off to the right. The ground in front of it exploded in shower of dirt and rock as LRMs exploded all around its feet.

The Wyvern launched its Jackson Dart-10, as the Bombardier sent another 40 missiles screaming back towards her Pillager, the Crabs scuttling ever closer, seeking to bring their heavy lasers to bear.

Again the Pillager absorbed the warheads, only the right arm was in any danger of being penetrated, down to about a half ton of protection. She could get used to piloting this 'Mech.

She heard the scream of the incoming aerospace fighters through her canopy, and felt the ground rumble as two jets strafed her fire support. There was a huge explosion as one the LRM Carriers went up in a massive fireball.

"Whiry One! Whirly-Two! I need those ****** carriers! Do something!"

"We're setting up now, we'll give 'em a little something to think about on their next pass, Leutnant."

-

Southers grinned as the Mongoose raced past Sigil and right into range of his Deathgiver. "Damaad, target the Mongoose as a secondary, I don't want anything getting into our rear!" Sigil was way out ahead of everybody, right in front of the other 4 ComStar 'Mechs that made up the Level II. He shook his head, that dude was crazy.

The deadly buzz of the Deathgiver vibrated up through his command console, and he watched as the torrent of slugs disintegrated the left arm and gouged a huge chuck for the torso of the fast moving light 'Mech. Damaad's large laser finished the job the Deathgiver had started, evaporating what remained of the left torso, but the Mongoose would not be put down with a single volley. He triggered his two Hellion-V mediums, scouring away the armor on its right torso, as his Thunderstoke sent a bevy missiles flying towards it.

And then it was past them into their rear.

His attention was jerked back to the front as the Excalibur's gauss rifle struck his right torso, and continued peppering him with LRMs. His wire diagram glowed in warning. Center and right torso, right arm, another strike against any of those would send it internal.

He responded to the Excalibur with his own Doombud. Twelve of his missile struck the heavy 'Mech across its torso, penetrating the damaged left torso but failing to do any critical damage. It was Damaad's Maxell extended range that did the real damage. Drilling deep into the now exposed left torso, his laser found its way to one of the two ammunition bins for the Excalibur's LRM-20 that were located there.

The entire left side of the 'Mech exploded outwards, sending the 70-ton 'Mech pin wheeling to the ground, where it lay smoldering.

Sigil stared down the Champion, Thorn and Night Hawk now only a couple hundred meters away. There was only one thing to do. And he'd been dying to do it since he'd fired Lizzie up.

He stomped on the jump jet petals. The Hatchetmen rocketed into the air, flames streaming unchecked from both legs and back. As he was thrown back against his command couch, a warning Klaxon started screeching, his HUD filling with glowing red letters.

"Exhaust Port Malfunction."

He let off the petals, but they seemed glued to the floor as the Hatchetman continued vaulting through the sky. Beneath him, the Excalibur was covered in missile strikes, its left side exploding outwards as the 'Mech was destroyed.

Holy Mother of Kerensky! The three remaining ComStar 'Mechs turned their head upwards, lighting up the sky with fire, but they all flew harmlessly well behind him, as his 'Mech barreled through the air in barely controlled flight.

Usurper! He sailed right over the top of them, heat now beginning to pour into the cockpit as the jump jets kept relentlessly spouting super-heated plasma.

This wasn't good.

-

Chapter 6

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Captain Varukka Salt watched the battle unfolding from the bridge of the Snowmane. Their defensive line was just beginning to lose its cohesion. Isamu's lance was maintaining a slow steady withdrawl as planned, but the center was now stuck in place after the Highlander went down, followed by the Archer.

And the other side was a complete mess. The fleet footed Mongoose had just gotten in the rear, and Sigil's Hatchetman looked for all the world to be whizzing uncontrollably through the air, flames pouring out of every conceivable place on the 45-ton 'Mech. It looked ready to practically melt down right in mid-air.

If he managed to land that thing, though, he'd be in their rear at least.

The aerospace fighters had reduced one of the LRM carriers to a smoking crater, as they circled around lining up for their next strafing run.

The next thirty seconds would be absolutely critical. The fate of entire unit now hung in the balance.

"Spanner, standby on the altitude engines. Sanchez, lower the loading ramp. It's gonna be close."

-

Lt. Commander Hamilton assessed the situation in front of him in a single glance. And it didn't look good. "Weddle, maintain your withdraw. Walther, I'll cover you. Keep the range opened up."

It was going to get hairy now. The range had closed to about 360 meters. Soon, they would be able to bring their full powerful to bear.

He planted himself in front of Walther's damaged Archer, targeting the 70-ton Shootist. Nah, screw that, the Sentinel was closing too fast, he slewed his reticle over and fired. "Let's drop that Sentinel."

His M-7 smacked the 40-ton 'Mech straight in the chest, as LRM's exploded against its right torso and arm. Then it was deluged by another sixty LRMs as Weddle launched his FarFires and Walther got to his feet firing his. An orange fireball erupted from within the cloud obscuring the ComStar 'Mech, and as it cleared all that was left was the lower half of its right arm.

Must have set off the autocannon ammunition, Hamilton thought as he braced himself for their return fire. The Starslayer got in the fray for the first time, firing the dual heavy lasers mounted on its right side. One drilled into his right torso as the other flew wide. The Guillotine's Sunglow burned across his left arm, as the Thug fired its huge Tiegarts. The first particle stream struck his thickly armored chest, but the second devastated his already damaged right leg. Klaxons blared as his 'Mech wobbled precariously. "Right Leg: Critical. Right Leg: Upper Actuator Destroyed. Right Leg: Foot Destroyed. Right Leg Structural Integrity: 10%."

One more hit from anything, and the entire leg would collapse! He barely noticed as the Shootist's extended range laser struck his right arm.

Weddle's voice sounded over the alarm Klaxons. "Hamilton, back your ass up! I'm moving in! It's my turn to take the heat!"

-

She wanted that Bombardier gone. She'd only be out of range of those two Crabs for a few more blessed seconds. "Let's drop that Bombardier NOW!"

As if to emphasize her point, the sharp crack of her gauss rifles split the air. Dammit, she cursed as the slugs glanced one each of the Bombardiers arms. The Bombardier fired its dual Delphinius 20 racks as the LRM carriers deadly rain fell all over it, followed the Wyvern's 10 rack, and the Kintaro's Zeus LRM-5.

35 of 55 missiles struck true, showering the ground with burning chunks of her Star Slab armor. But again the Pillager refused to acknowledge the damage. Unfortunately, neither did the Bombardier. It's left arm was shredded, as was most of the armor across its entire front, but it showed no sign of critical damage.

And to make matters worse, the Crabs had closed to within 450 meters. Time to shift tactics. She commed over to her remaining LRM carrier, "Keep pulling back, I'm going in! Finish off that Bombardier, I gotta finish making my crab dip for the party later."

-

Southers cursed himself. The Mongoose was making a break for the remaining LRM carrier. He snapped off his two rear mounted Hellion V-s in a desperate attempt to stop it from getting to the lightly armored vehicle. One of them penetrated its chest, but the 'Mech just keep on sprinting towards the defenseless carrier. It was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

He forced his attention back to the front. The other three ComStar 'Mechs look distracted by the wildly flying Hatchetman so he jerked his reticle left, his torso following as he sighted in the Bombardier. His Doombud arced down on it, clustering nicely on its right side. It trembled, its chest suddenly exploding throwing the 65-ton ton 'Mech backwards. Its arm and legs spun through the air as the entire core of the 'Mech disintegrated.

"Damaad! Snap a couple shots off at that Mongoose before it gets outta range!"

Damaad whipped His nimble Night Hawk around, firing both of his heavy lasers at the swiftly disappearing Mongoose. His Maxell extended range large laser reached out towards it, catching the 'Mech just as it was turning, and spearing it right through the chest coring it. It scattered into its component parts as it smacked into the ground.

He yelled excitedly, "Mongoose down!"

-

The Klaxons kept screaming in Sigil's cockpit, as it begin to fill with the sharp smell of burning electronics. "Fusion Engine Core Unstable. Fusion Engine Damaged. Exhaust Port Malfunction. Heat Level Critical. Exhaust Port Malfunction. Danger: Ammunition Explosion. Exhaust Port Malfunction. Heat Level Exceeded. Catastropic Core Meltdown Imminent." The sounds were deafening, the HUD cut in and out ominiously.

Sigil felt his bowels release. She was gonna blow. He slammed the emergency eject lever.

The entire head of the 45-ton 'Mech detached, as the rockets built into the base of the neck fired, sending the entire head assembly shooting high into the air.

He had a birds eye of view of the most spectacular firework ever witnessed in the Inner Sphere. The Hatchetman went supernova, exploding with a fury never witnessed before. Already consumed by the flames pouring furiously from its exhaust ports, both the fusion engine and the Code Red's ammunition exploded simultaneously.

Like thunder straight from the gods, the shockwave crashed over him, flinging the Hatchetman's head through the air like a leaf caught in a tornado, and hopelessly tangling the lines of the parachute meant to slow its decent. All that was left to do was trust the battle computers control of the two directional vanes which guided his flight, and the emergency beacon already broadcasting his location.

The last he knew he was plummeting towards the ground, his ears ringing, his mind dazed by the force of the explosion.

Wow! Man, that was almost worth it, he though as everything went black.

The entire battlefield paused as the force of the explosion washed over them all, rocking even the huge assault 'Mechs back with its incredible fury. A huge smoking starburst hung suspended in the sky marking the place where the Hatchetman had detonated.

-

Dawg heard the explosion kilometers away where he and his two squads had concealed themselves in the waist tall grasses of Talisker's golden plains. They could all see the wonderous smoking starburst hanging in the sky over the distant battlefield.

He took it as a sign. There were already numerous pillars of smoke rising from the peninsula. He could only guess as what caused such an incredible explosion, but whatever it was, it was now or never.

He motioned his men forward, and in seconds they were all creeping through the grasses in their full sneak suits heading toward the Union class Dropship that had disgorged a company of ComStar 'Mechs only hours earlier. Another Leopard class ship was nearby, and they angled towards it, placing it between them and the towering Union.

Within minutes they had closed the intervening distance. They had been over the plan as many times as they had time for. They all knew exactly what to do and where to place the charges for maximum effect.

One squad stopped, crouching, weapons ready, covering the second squad as they swiftly moved towards one of the four altitude engines of the Union. Twenty men swarmed over the structure supporting the massive engine, planting powerful penta-glycerin charges at each vulnerable point Captain Salt had shown them just the day before.

Then the first sharp report of gunfire broke the silence, as one of the few guards that had been posted around the ComStar landing site caught sight of something on the structure and opened fire. He was cut down a fraction of a second later by the squad Dawg had assigned to cover them.

Surprise had been lost. He had known it would be sooner or later, but the primary goal had been to place the charges, and that at least they had already accomplished. He triggered his personal comlink.

"All units fall back, gather at assigned rally point and good luck!"

He team broke into seven man squads and scattered, each racing towards the hovercraft by a different route. They had camouflaged them when Captain Salt had let them out onto the plains. And for a quick getaway, there was no better craft. Well, except maybe a VTOL, but oh well.

Behind him, another explosion rocked the fields of Talisker, as the penta-glycerin charges they had planted were detonated by their attached timers.

Dawg risked a glance over his shoulder at the sound, and caught the Union class canting down on one side, now lying awkwardly tilted against the ground.

Mission accomplished.

Let's hope Lt. Commander Hamilton is having the same kind of luck.

-

Weddle grimaced in pain as he moved his Archer up in hopes of giving Hamilton a brief respite from the fire. "Switching targets. Starslayer is primary. It's getting too close."

A quartet of heavy lasers and the Thug's matched particle cannons rocked his 'Mech as he cut in front of Hamilton's Highlander. Two of the heavies melted a ton of armor from his left arm, the next struck his left torso, as the forth missed wide. His chest and right torso absorbed the particle streams from the Thug. And just like that, his wire diagram shifted from green to orange across almost his entire top half.

He slid his reticle center mass over the Starslayer, letting fly with everything he had. The resulting flood of heat was instantaneous, causing sweat to begin pouring off of him. He slapped the stimpack on his leg flooding his system with pain killers and heavy duty stimulants.

Behind him Walther sent his own missile racks and one of the Victory Nickels at the Starslayer, as Hamilton added his M-7 and Holly 20 rack to barrage.

The Starslayer was covered in explosions as the LRMs rained down upon it, the gauss rifle slug passing clean through its right torso, severing its arm, and destroying both its main weapons with a single shot. It triggered a pair of Defiance B3M medium lasers and its TharHes 4 pack as it continued to close, damaged but not yet out of the fight.

One of the B3Ms pierced his left arm, followed by one of the SRMs, causing the first alarms to appear on his HUD. "Left Arm: Critical. Left Hand Actuator Destroyed. Victory Nickel Extended Range Large Laser: Offline.

Well, at least that solved the heat problem.

-

"LRM Two, Target the lead Crab!"

Lt. Isamu throttled up the monstrous 100-ton Pillager to meet the two oncoming Crabs and the Kintaro. Four RAMTch 1200 large lasers carved armor from her 'Mech as she triggered her gauss rifles, adding her own Defiance B3L heavy laser to the mix for the first time. The Wyvern fired it Jackson Dart, as the Kintaro added another 5 LRMs from its Zeus.

The first warning flashed across her HUD as well. "Right Arm Critical. Right Upper Arm Actuator Destroyed. Defiance B3L Large Laser Destroyed." She gritted her teeth, as the LRM carrier still backing up behind her launched another salvo of death.

She just barely registered an explosion high and off behind her as her comlink crackled to life. "Whirly-Two is down. Repeat, Whirly-Two is down." A split second later, the pair of aerospace fighters screamed above her through the sky.

As she turned her attention back to the Crab, it emerged from the cloud of LRMs, its left side damaged, the right arm stripped of armor, but all its weapons were still functional.

She growled.

-

Southers noted the Champion, Night Hawk, and Thorn had shifted out of position as they had turned to follow Sigil's Hatchetman as it leapt over their heads before exploding into nothingness.

"Damaad follow me in! We're gonna keeping taking the heat off the Lt. Commander. Let's finish off that Starslayer!"

He sent his Doombud arcing down on the damaged 50-ton ComStar 'Mech, as Damaad sent his heavy lasers across the field towards it. They all coalesced on the left side of the 'Mech, first destroying the arm, and then savaging the torso completely. The canopy blew off, the piloting ejecting as his 'Mech crashed to the ground, all of its weapons destroyed.

Southers grinned ear from ear. Another kill! He pumped his fist in the privacy of his cockpit. Yeah!

"Nice shooting, Damaad. Keep it up!"

-

Weddle knew the cockpit was stifling hot from the heat indicator, but he felt a cold chill up his spine, as he noticed he hand rattling violently against the control sticks. He slapped the stimpack again, flooding his system with synthetic drugs. He hand steadied as he opened his com.

"Hamilton, Walther, fall back. I'll hold here. I'm done. My 'Mechs critical, and I'm about to crash from the pharmaceuticals, I can feel it coming on, man. Sorry. Targeting the Shootist."

With that, he left fly another salvo of LRM-15s followed by his remaining Victory Nickel. The Victory hit in the right arm, but both salvos of LRM missed wide as his hand began twitching again.

Screw it, he was done for. He hit the auto-eject as the Thug, Guillotine and Shootist unloaded into the now pilotless Archer. He watched it topple slowly to the ground. It was a shame really, it still had a little fight left in it. It was he who had failed. The flesh was weaker than the steel.

Hamilton fired his M-7 as he watched Weddle's Archer go down. The slug crushed the armored plates of the Shootist's right leg, as a perfect strike with his Holly-20 blasted craters in its armor. Kerensky, he loved that Artemis!

Next to him, Walther added his firepower to the strike, but the Shootist just bulled through, its tough hide still intact.

He had to keep backpedaling, his right leg was all but destroyed, he couldn't risk getting close unless he absolutely had no other choice. He glanced quickly to his right. Thank Kerensky Southers was picking up the slack. He hit his comlink. "Southers, Damaad, shift towards my position. Walther and I will back you up. Take the front."

He glanced to his left. A full lance of ComStar 'Mechs was converging on Virote's Pillager, as the remaining LRM carrier poured LRMs onto them as fast as they reloaded.

It was going to be another close battle.

-

Lt. Virote Isamu was thinking the exact same thing as she lumbered towards the four ComStar 'Mechs.

As if to emphasis the thought, her com spat out. "Whirly-One, bogies inbound on that LRM carrier. Sorry. Nothing I can do. Pulling back under the umbrella of the Snowmane. Good luck Leutnant."

She ground her teeth as she responded, "LRM Two stay on target." She command almost stuck in her throat as she issued it. It would result in the death of the armor crew. She knew it. They must know it. She was basically telling them to die. She felt the bile creeping up her throat.

Her com came back to life. "We're on target, Leutnant. No worries. And oh, by the way, I was one who called you a 'snake' back there on the beach," the crewman chuckled.

Her eyes watered as she unloaded once again into the Crab, another salvo of 60 LRMs taking flight from behind her. Both slugs combined ripped off the entire right half of the Crab as it responded with it's heavy lasers. The carrier's LRMs exploded all across it, blue sparks flying from its left arm, a sign that at least one of the actuators there had been destroyed, but it still very much in the fight.

The barrage of heavy laser and PPC fire finally began to take a toll on her 'Mech. Her right arm hung uselessly from her side, as actuator after actuator melted down. Then the Thug's Tiegarts slammed into her left arm and left torso sending the alarms screaming once again. "Left Arm Critical. Heat Sink Destroyed. Left Torso Critical. Right Arm Critical. Right Arm Structure: 12%."

She couldn't take much more.

Then she heard the LRM carrier explode behind here, showering her 'Mech with hot fragments.

-

Captain Salt jumped as Dawg's frequency suddenly came to life. "Mission Accomplished. Get the hell out of here Salt!" Explosions and gun fire echoed through the link before it suddenly cut off.

She screamed as she punched her command console, blood pouring from her knuckles.

******! If she pulled out now, she'd be leaving half the &^%$^%$ unit behind!

But she was the Commanding Officer. She had to make the call.

She viciously punched the console again, blood now smearing the surface. SHE HAD TO MAKE THE *&%&*% CALL! NOW! MAKE THE CALL!

And then she knew what she had to do. The 69th wasn't going to make it back to the LZ, so the LZ was going to have to come to them.

She hit the switch causing the main loading ramp to begin closing, as she deployed the blast shields. "Altitude Engines 100%! Weapons Hot! Standby maneuvering thrusters! Keep an eye out for those two aerospace fighters! Whirly-One clear the area! Its gonna be a short rough ride, boy and girls."

-

Chapter 7

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

She was almost out of time. Her Pillager was beat. The right arm was just hanging on, and the left arm and torso were both critical. And there was still a full lance of ComStar 'Mechs staring her in the face. She'd be lucky to live another 30 seconds.

The feeling wasn't all that different from one of her many arena fights from back on Galatea, except maybe the stakes were a bit higher. She shook her head, she'd come within a single fight from being crowned the champion of the medium division back when she'd been piloting Samba, her Vindicator. Of course that fight had been against Sigil, who'd shattered that dream, ironically only to replace it with another.

She learned how to brawl in the close quarters of those Galatean arenas, and now was time to teach these ComStar fanatics a thing or two about in your face fighting.

The Gauss rifles were nothing but liabilities now. The massive weapons practically filled both of her torsos, with the remaining space filled with bulky extralight engine shielding. A single shot could trigger a catastrophic gauss rifle capacitor explosion, which would shut her down instantaneously, and put her out of the fight.

But, even if nothing else remained, the Pillager still had its had bulk. The chassis alone on the massive 100-ton 'Mech could absorb substantial punishment. And she'd have to use structure as armor now as only her right leg and chest had any significant amount of Star Slab left.

Both Crabs had closed within 90 meters. Her reticle was still hovering over the lead Crab as she triggered what would be her last salvo of slugs. As they flashed out of the barrels imbedded on either side of her chest, she flicked both of huge cannons offline, leaving the capacitors fully discharged.

It was a shot worthy of being the last. With the right side of the Crab already gone, both slugs slammed into the 50-ton 'Mech's chest, powering straight through it, sending 'Mech gore spewing out the rear as she cored it.

She triggered the massive HildCo 13 jump jets, as she watched it shred apart, crashing to the ground as little more than a collection of ruined limbs.

It was one of her favorite tricks from the arena. Saving the jump jets until the last possible moment. Many an opponent had fallen for it. Hell, Sigil had fallen for it too. For some reason, if you didn't fire the jump jets, people seemed to either forget about them, or guess they'd been removed to make space for more armor or weapons. It usually proved to be a fatal mistake.

She braced herself for their return fire as her 'Mech hurtled through the air towards the remaining Crab. Caught off guard, one of the Crab's RAMTech heavies missed wide, the other hitting low against her right leg. Its Ceres Arms medium penetrated her left leg, as its small ExoStar evaporated the last quarter ton of armor covering her right torso. Her HUD flashed at her. "Left Leg: Gauss Rifle Ammunition Feed Mechanism Destroyed."

The Kintaro fired as well. She squinted quizzically as a single pod-like projectile launched out of its chest, smacking into her left torso. But it failed to explode. Then, it followed up with its dual HoverTec 6 racks as the Wyvern, still hanging back providing fire support, added its own Jackson Dart LRM-10 and Nightwind heavy laser.

Eighteen out of 22 of missiles struck her 'Mech as she fought to land on the broad back of the remaining Crab. As the alarms began shrieking, she realized what it was the Kintaro had hit her with. It had tagged her with a Narc Missile Beacon, a powerful homing device that vastly increased the accuracy of missile based weapons. Then, the thought was pushed from her mind as warnings scrolled down her HUD.

"Left Torso: Critical. Left Torso: Gauss Rifle Destroyed. Left Torso: Gauss Rifle Destroyed. Left Torso Structure: 58%. Left Leg Upper Actuator: Destroyed. Right Torso: Critical. Right Torso: Engine Damaged. Right Torso: Gauss Rifle Ammunition Feed Mechanism Destroyed. Right Arm: Critical. Right Arm Upper Actuator: Destroyed. Right Arm Lower Actuator: Destroyed. Right Arm Hand Actuator: Destroyed. Right Arm: Destroyed."

She braced herself for the impact as the Pillager descended on the Crab. She led with her right foot, which still had three quarters of a ton of armor remaining, her 'Mech twisting dangerously as her right arm was destroyed and the beast absorbed the bevy of missiles. But she still managed to come down on the left side of the Crab.

Her right foot drove straight through the head of the Crab, as her damaged left leg crushed armor plates from its left torso and arm. New warnings flared to life as her right leg got caught in the mangled remains of the Crab's head, and both 'Mechs crashed helter skelter to the ground. "Right Leg: Critical. Right Leg: Jump Jet Exhaust Port Offline. Left Leg: Critical. Left Leg Structure: 33%."

She landed heavily on her left side all but destroying her remaining arm in the process. "Left Arm: Critical. Left Arm Structure: 11%."

"Come on Virote!," she screamed at herself. "Get up! Get the hell up!"

-

Lt. Commander Jeff Hamilton and Corporal Walther Radhow were backpedaling as fast as their cumbersome 'Mechs could manage. Each one was in danger of losing a leg, and they looked on in relief as Corporal Souther's massive Atlas cut in front of them, Damaad's tiny Night Hawk sticking to it like a piece of gum, as they intercepted the storming 70-ton ComStar Shootist. The Guillotine was coming on right behind it, as the Thug lingered back with its long ranged dual Tiegart particle cannons.

Then both the Shootist and Atlas opened up with their aptly named Deathgiver autocannons. A hot stream of lead ate deep into the Shootist's right torso, stripping away the armor in a single devastating river of slugs. The Atlas also took the shot in its right torso, armor peeling away as the explosive rounds pounded into the structure, leaving a ragged hole, but neither shot had managed to critically damage either 'Mech.

But, neither 'Mech was finished yet. Southers added his Thunderstroke 6 rack and two medium lasers, failing again to do any significant damage as Damaad added his own firepower to the mix.

The Shootist raged back, unleashing its remaining complement of weapons. The first Blakenburg medium pulse drilled into the already ravaged right torso of the Atlas, the second doing the same to his chest, as its heavy laser sent armor pouring off his left torso. Following the other heavy laser, the Guillotine's Sunglow managed to burn hole in the armor of his left torso, as the Thug's PPCs thankfully hit his still thickly covered right leg and left arm.

His Army Comp. Type 29K calmly reported the results. "Right Torso Critical. Right Torso Structure: 10%. Center Torso: Critical. Center Torso: Engine Damaged. Center Torso Structure: 88%."

But, he had managed to keep his feet, and that was all the mattered to him. After falling while trying to support the Colonel's charge during the previous battle, he lived in terror of making the same mistake again.

Behind him, both Walther and Hamilton launched their long ranged missiles at the dangerously close Shootist. Artemis guided munitions exploded all across the 70-ton 'Mech as Walther added his Victory Nickel and Hamilton his M-7 gauss rifle. The deadly slug buried itself in the damaged right torso, as warheads mercilessly exploited the gaping hole, first destroying the large laser located there, then, bypassing the frontal armor to pass into the center torso, trashing the fusion engine. The Shootist shut down slowly toppling to the ground, only meters from the feet of the Atlas, and lay still.

-

Lt. Commander Hamilton took in the tactical situation with a single grim glance. The ComStar 'Mechs just kept coming on, in front of him the Guillotine stepped up to take the place of the fallen Shootist as the Thug continued to pound away at them with its dual PPCs. Virote was down, a Kintaro and Wyvern preparing to finish off her heavily damage assault 'Mech. The Champion, Night Hawk and Thorn had finally returned to the fray, racing up his right flank, bypassing Souther and Damaad, preparing to circle around and take them from the side.

As if to drive the point home, the trio of flanking 'Mechs took a series of pot shots at his Highlander. The Champion's LB 10-X went wide as the 'Mech raced ahead at over 85 kp/h, but both the Night Hawk and Thorn managed to hit him with their long ranged weapons, the heavy laser scoring armor from his left leg, and three LRMs plinking his left arm.

"Walther, switch targets. We've got flankers. Let's bring down their 'Hawk."

Hamilton triggered his M-7 and Holly 20 rack, as Walther added his own LRMs and extended range large laser. The hardened slug all but ripped off the left arm of the Night Hawk, his Holly 20 finishing it off as they grouped nicely on the left side. Then Walther's FarFires rained down on the light 'Mech, finishing the work begun by Hamilton, and destroying the left torso. Equipped with an Extralight fusion engine, the 'Mech couldn't sustain the loss of its torso, and it skidded across the ground, throwing up clouds of dirt as it came to its final resting place.

As he whipped his head back around, he watched the Guillotine unleashing a blistering fusillade of lasers at the Atlas, followed by its Coventry 6 rack, the Thug adding its own twin particle streams to the volley. Souther and Damaad responded with their own salvos. For a few long seconds the scene was obscured by smoke and fire.

With a thunderous crash, the Atlas fell. The entire right side was gone, steam pouring from a hole in its chest, as the 'Mech spasmodically jerked on the ground, an obvious sign the gyro had been damaged as well. The Night Hawk was clear, but the Guillotine had only sustained moderate damage as it moved in for the kill.

-

Structure, armor, actuator parts and coolant poured from the tortured Pillager as Virote forced the behemoth back to its feet for one last stand. That the 'Mech could stand at all was a testament to its designers. It rocked back and forth unsteadily, but the shredded mammoth was angry. She was angry.

And she had drawn the foolish Kintaro pilot in by waiting just an extra second before she levered herself back up. Virote managed a smile, another arena trick. Pilots wanting a spectacular point blank kill shot. Stupid. She always finished them off at range.

The Kintaro realized its mistake a second too late. It had closed with every intention of gutting the savage machine and putting it out of its misery. The Pillagers clawed left arm, held on with little more than hope, shot out grabbing the Kintaro's right leg, and pulled it violently in. The Kintaro responded with a hastily aimed alpha strike, as Virote triggered her remaining four Ceres Arms medium lasers.

She simply slapped the mute on her alarms, the Pillager was finished, of that she had no doubt. The 'Mech was literally coming apart all around her now as SRM after SRM exploded everywhere around her, and she just lost track of the damage as the Wyvern added its own missile and laser fire.

She no longer cared, she'd rolled the dice on her last, desperate gambit.

As the Kintaro fell backwards, tripped by the massive hand of the Pillager, Virote simply crushed it underneath her assault 'Mechs substantial weight with a clumsy belly flop.

There was deep rumble, as the Kintaro's ammunition exploded underneath her. She felt the beginning of the explosion ripping upwards through what little remained of her 'Mech before someone suddenly turned out the lights.

-

Damaad stared death in the face. Souther's Atlas was a smoking pile next to him. And suddenly there wasn't anything between him and the ComStar Guillotine and Thug anymore. He'd had a good run, though. He felt a bit of pride swell up from deep within. It was his first real combat, and ******, it was one for the books. If he lived, and that seemed like a remote possibly now, he'd be able to hold his head high, and tell one helluva story. For a change, someone would be buying him drinks to wet his tongue, instead of the other way around.

"Don't worry, Commander, I've got it! I can at least buy you a few more seconds!"

He centered his reticule on the Guillotine and let fly with everything he had, just as the two ComStar 'Mechs did the same.

His extended range Maxell burned armor from the Guillotine's right arm, as his P5M stitched a line across its right torso. But it was the old 'tech weapon, a standard Defiance B3L heavy laser, which did the real damage, as it penetrated the chest of the enemies' heavy 'Mech, damaging the delicate gyro housed there.

The Night Hawk bucked as the Guillotine's Sunglow hit him dead center, followed by a quartet of medium lasers, then four SRMs exploded against his rapidly disappearing armor. Just as he thought he was going to be able to keep his feet, the Thug's twin Tiegarts slammed into him, one almost taking off his left arm, as the other stripped the armor clean off his right torso. "Right Arm: Critical. Right Arm Structure: 17%."

Then he was looking at the dirt, dazed by his sudden fall.

-

Hamilton saw Virote's Pillager take the Kintaro down with it. That was one mean bitch! She was a real scrapper. No wonder she'd won all the chicken fights back on the beach. He suddenly marveled at how Sigil had managed to beat her back in the arena on Galatea.

Then Damaad's Night Hawk went down right in front of him, revealing the Guillotine plodding ahead.

"Walther! Guillotine! Now!" They were still giving up ground as fast as they could, but it was no longer fast enough. The Champion and Thorn had managed to flank them, and the Wyvern was moving to join up with the Thug.

His Highlander groaned and stumbled as the Champion raked it with one of its LB 10-X cluster rounds, the Thorn adding its Zeus LRM-5. Klaxons blared to life, proclaiming, "Right Leg: Critical. Right Leg Hip Actuator: Destroyed. Right Leg Structure: 5%"

******! He was basically immobilized at this point. One more cluster round would finish his leg for sure. Sadly, the rest of the Highlander was actually in fair shape. The right leg was the only area which had been penetrated.

But you're your only as strong as your weakest link, he reflected grimly.

-

Walther heard Hamilton's orders, and slewed his reticule back over toward the emerging Guillotine. But he was done giving ground. He'd cover the Lt. Commander's withdraw. Someone had to make it out of this alive.

"I'm all over it, Commander!" He shoved his throttle up, suddenly moving towards the Guillotine instead of away. Hamilton's Highlander slipped behind him, as he changed directions.

Thank Kerensky Gorton, Kingsley, and Thorpe had put a full two tons of ammunition for the FarFires. He let another salvo fly. It was time to forget about the heat too. He triggered both Victory Nickels, the cockpit instantly becoming an oven. Ya, well, they could have found a way to add a few more heat sinks though, he thought sourly.

Hamilton's gauss rifle flashed past him, as his Holly 20 rained down on it. It took the slug to the right torso as the missiles struck along the top of the 'Mech, but failing to slow it down.

The range was getting too close, Southers realized, as only fifteen of his thirty missiles struck the ComStar 'Mech, the rest flying over the spotlight perched atop its head. His first Victory Nickel melted a line across its left leg, the other penetrating its left torso. The heat reading on the Guillotine rose a bit as he destroyed a pair of heat sinks located there, but that would prove only a minor annoyance at this point.

But they had done enough. With the gyro already damaged from Damaad's valiant stand, the 70-ton 'Mech swayed precariously under the onslaught of missile strikes, then overbalanced and fell.

It was down, but it wasn't out yet.

-

Damaad didn't see, but heard the Guillotine come crashing to the ground nearby. Hastily, shoving his 'Mech back up to his feet, his unloaded point blank into the fallen 'Mech. Heavy lasers speared each arm, melting away structure, and sending out a shower of sparks from its right arm, as his medium pulse dispensed with the last of the armor covering its left leg.

As the 'Mech struggled to its feet, he planted a vicious kick against its left side. His foot destroyed what little remained holding the left torso together, and as the left torso evaporated, its arm snapped off, spilling the 'Mech back towards the ground.

It tried to catch its fall with its remaining arm, but the arm proved too heavily damaged to sustain the shock of the heavy 'Mech, and it too snapped off, the 'Mech landing heavily on its already ravaged chest. It lay unmoving on the ground, in that strangely still way that told of a destroyed gyro.

He never even saw the Thug unload on him, just heard the alarms. "Right Arm: Destroyed. Right Torso: Critical. Right Torso: Heat Sink Destroyed. Right Torso: Heat Sink Destroyed."

There was a bright flash, as one of the Tiegarts hit his head, throwing him violently about in the cockpit. The Wyvern added its Nightwind, a half ton of armor disappearing from his left leg, as its Jackson Dart fell like death upon him.

-

Hamilton watched as the now headless Night Hawk slumped to the ground beside the fallen Guillotine. He shuffled his 'Mech around to his right, as the Champion came screaming towards him followed by the light Thorn. He slipped his reticule past the 60-ton Champion, resting it on the lightly armored Thorn.

At least he'd get another kill before he went down.

The Champion's Lubalin Ballistics cannon barked forth another cluster round. Six of the sub-munitions exploded across his 90-ton Highlander, but amazingly none against his right leg. His left arm and center torso absorbed the two Magna Mk II mediums, as it let fly with its own Artemis enhanced Harpoon-6 SRM launcher. Again, his luck held, as the Highlander ate up a full salvo of six SRM strikes.

It was the Thorn's Zeus LRM-5 that got him. Somehow, somewhere, he knew it would be the light 'Mech that finished him, he thought, as his slug and LRMs blazed towards the Thorn. He had just been a few seconds too late. Its two Hellion Spitfire mediums hit one after another against his right torso, wrecking the structure there and destroying numerous components.

Then the Highlander tilted crazily as his right leg finally gave way, sending him to meet the dirt as the Starlight LX-1 reported what was now painfully obvious. "Right Leg: Critical. Right Leg: Destroyed. Right Torso: Critical. Right Torso: Medium Laser Destroyed. Right Torso: Medium Laser Destroyed. Right Torso: Gauss Rifle Ammunition Feed Mechanism Destroyed. Right Torso Structure: 48%"

Hamilton never saw the revenge he'd gotten. His gauss rifle slug simply blew right through the 20-ton 'Mechs right torso, cutting the arm right off, as the LRM's relentlessly pounded its center torso until there was simply nothing left.

-

Walther watched as the last friendly indicator disappeared from his HUD. A Thug and a Wyvern stalked him from the front, as the Champion circled around his rear.

His com crackled to life. It was Hamilton. He wasn't entirely out yet. "I'm gonna prop and shoot that Champion, follow up and maybe we can take one more of these bastards to hell with us!"

Walther spun his Archer around, exposing his rear to the approaching Thug and Wyvern as he settled his reticule over the 60-ton Champion. Good as his word, Hamilton had propped up his Highlander with his left arm. Hamilton let fly with his M-7 and Holly 20 just as Walther triggered his dual FarFires and Victory Nickels.

The resulting heat caused him to swoon dizzily in the cockpit, his vision blurring as the Archer's RCA Instratrac Mk XXII warned him, "Heat Level Exceeded: Auto Shut Down Initiated. Heat Level Exceeded: Possible Ammunition Explosion."

He watched the results of his strike from high in the air, as his auto-eject triggered at the first sign of the impending ammunition explosion.

-

Hamilton grinned stupidly in the cockpit of his 90-ton Highlander as he watched his gauss slug decapitate the Champion before it was obscured by 50 LRMs exploding all over it. Behind him he heard a huge explosion. He'd heard them before, all MechWarrior had, and knew the distinctive sound of one. Ammunition explosion. Walther's Archer had gone up. Damn. He really liked that guy. He was kinda like him, fought straight until the bitter, bloody end.

Well, they all had. Weddle, the armor crews, Virote, Southers, and Damaad too. Except for Sigil. That guy was a &^%$#$% idiot!

Then an ominous shadow fell over his 90-ton Highlander.

-

Chapter 8

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Captain Dawg's 50-ton Drillson hovertank hit the beach at over 150 km/h, and without slowing started screaming over the surface of the lake. Behind him, the remaining Maxim hover transport followed at just under 130 km/h, behind it a greasy column of smoke marked the place where the two ComStar aerospace fighters had turned the other Maxim into a smoking crater.

He whipped his head around wildy looking for the two fighters he knew were still out there. Ahead, off to his left, almost two dozen pillars of smoke gave a clear indication of exactly where the battlefield was.

"Salt! I'm coming in hot! Got two aerospace fighters chewing my ass up! SitRep!"

Dawg could hear the tension in her voice. "All units are down except for whatever you've got left and Whirly-One. Repeat, all other units are down. The battlefield is hostile. A Thug and Wyvern holding it."

Dawg caught a silvery flash out of the corner of his eyes, throwing his Drillson hewing through the water as he abruptly altered course, missiles exploding in his wake.

"******, can you do something about those fighters!? At this rate, I'm not going to make the LZ!"

"That's a negative, Dawg," Salt growled. "The only asset I've got remaining is my own. But before you get all huffy about it, look up at your 11 o'clock."

Dawg glanced up and over, punching up the magnification. Shit! She was moving the Snowmane! The huge spheroid DropShip looked as if were defying gravity as it arced laterally through the sky.

******, how did she manage that!?

Her voice broke back in. "I'm sending you the new LZ coordinates now. While I can't get those fighters off your ass, I can make your run a little shorter. Good Luck. See you on the beach."

-

Captain Salt was man-handling the Snowmane like nobody's business. She'd switched it over to manual controls because there was no way in hell the flight computer would allow her to maneuver the DropShip like she was doing.

She had two of the altitude engines roaring wide open, the other two at 75% and the maneuvering thrusters canted back at about 60 degrees to provide lateral thrust. It was an insanely delicate process keeping the Spheroid DropShip from losing it center of gravity and auguring into the ground.

Which Spanner reminded her of constantly. A non-stop string of epithets flew from the engineer's mouth as he babied the engines, tweaking their output as he fought alongside Salt from the engine room to keep the Snowmane from sliding into an uncontrolled decent.

"Varukka, you runty whelp of a Capellan Death Rat! The Union isn't built for this kind of reckless, half-witted, circus parlor trick!"

Salt snarled back, "Just keep those beady black eyes of yours on the maneuvering thrusters to keep us from going end over you bloody little bowling ball!"

Lt. Sanchez interrupted their arguing, "Capt. Salt! Two bogies inbound. In range in Three-Zero seconds."

She barked back stiffly, sweat beading on her thin eyebrows, "I've got my hands full just keeping us from spilling into the drink! Take over the weapons!"

"Yes, Captain. Taking control of the batteries now," Sanchez calmly replied.

The Snowmane jerked and bucked like a bronco as it flew nose up in a shallow lateral arc over the peninsula.

"Dawg! Looks like the bogies have found a new best friend, and your welcome!"

Dawg was back on the com in a flash, "I've got an unidentified in the water ahead, moving to investigate, and thank you."

The Snowmane shuttered as her forward missile batteries opened fire, followed by the barking of autocannon fire and the cerulean stream of particle cannons.

"Incoming fire, brace for impact!" Sanchez screamed.

Salt didn't see how their own return fire fared, but there was certainly no doubt that the two ComStar aerospace pilot's aim was true. The Snowmane groaned as multiple missiles exploded, pockmarking her hull.

Salt cut back on the right side maneuvering thrusters as the huge DropShip wanted to begin tilting from the force of the explosions. Damn, she was still drifting. She brought altitude engines #1 and #2 up to full as she feathered the other two back down.

Spanner was freaking out. "She's yawing, you ham-fisted French poodle excrement! A Tuskuldean slime snail could do a better job of piloting than you!"

Salt began sweating as she feverishly worked the limited control surfaces. For once, she would have preferred to be back in Shadowfax, their old Leopard Class Dropship. If she'd taken to calling it "The Brick", the Snowmane was now in danger of being called "The Lump."

Sanchez called out again, "Captain, their coming around for a second pass."

Her face a mask a fury, she rumbled, "Then SHOOT THEM DOWN!"

Sanchez simply replied, "Working on it, Captain. Their fast. Still no ID on them."

Another round of missiles rocked the Snowmane as Sanchez returned fire once again.

The bastards came in on the same side again, Salt swore, as the Snowmane began to tilt noticeably. She jerked back the throttle on engines #3 and #4. Briefly the Snowmane regained level, then began yawing the other way, its angle of attack canting down and backwards.

"GODAMMIT! Rear maneuvering thrusters full at 90!"

"What in the hell are you doing up there Varukka! This isn't some god forsaken shuttlecraft you can jerk around like an Imarian lap dog!"

She was dimly aware of Sanchez firing the weapons batteries, her concentration now given completely over to trying to regain control of the DropShip. The Snowmane was rocked again by multiple flights of LRMs, this time from behind her.

"I CANT KEEP HER FAT ASS UP ANY LONGER! I'M PUTTING HER DOWN NOW! BRACE FOR IMPACT AND STAY ON THOSE ****** WEAPON TURRETS!"

The entire maneuver had been a gamble, the only insurance she had on it was the relatively soft and sandy ground which she was landing on.

She deployed the landing pads as she dueled with the engines to both slow down their decent and bring the ship back in line. The whole move would be wasted if she damaged the Snowmane on landing.

She gritted her teeth as she fought on. The Snowmane was being a real bitch, and she was running out of time fast. ******! She just wouldn't settle down.

Then she noticed the edge of lake. Screw it. She'd side slip it right into the water. Hopefully between the water and the sand, it would take the edge off her inevitably awkward landing.

"VARUKKA! KERENSKY HIMSELF COULDN'T BRING US DOWN AT THIS ANGLE! DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE AND THROW YOUR BLONDE LEATHER CLAD ASS OVER MY KNEE AND SPANK YOU LIKE SOME LYRAN SOCIAL GENERAL'S SPOLIED SNOTTY NOSED KID!"

She bellowed right back, "GET OUR YOUR DATAPAD, SPANNER! SCHOOL'S IN SESSION! WATCH AND LEARN HOW A REAL PILOT GETS IT'S DONE!"

With bone jarring force, the Snowmane came down sliding laterally into the edge of the lake sending a huge wall of water rushing outwards. Metal screamed and screeched as the leading edge scrapped across the submerged sand, then the other half of the craft slammed down onto the sandy beach. The entire ship continued sliding for what seemed like an eternity before coming to a hissing stop.

"DAMAGE REPORT!" Salt barked as she opened the loading ramp.

Sanchez retorted, "INCOMING!"

Again the Snowmane suffered another barrage of long range missiles.

"DAWG! PULL OUR BOYS OFF THE BATTLEFIELD AND GET YOUR ASS IN HERE. WE GOTTA GO!"

-

Dawg brought his Drillson up alongside the floating, disembodied head of the Hatchetman. Apparently it had automatically deployed floatation devices when it detected a water landing. He pulled the external emergency canopy release.

The canopy hissed opened, revealing an unconscious, bloody and battered Sigil. With a deft motion, Dawg cut the five point harness strapping him to the command couch. Pulling of his neurohelmet, Dawg hooked his arms under Sigil's armpits and drug him into the Drillson, taking a moment to secure him in the jumpseat.

He gave him a quick once over, shaking his head. Then, he shoved the throttle back up on his 50-ton Drillson, skipping off the small waves as he roared towards the beach and, hopefully, a ride home.

He commed over to what remained of his two infantry squads in the Maxim. "Ok, boys, evac our pilots ASAP. I'll entertain the Thug and Wyvern for as long as I can."

The Drillson skidded crazily as he whipped it around, heading back towards the way he came.

-

Captain Salt took control of the weapon turrets. "Sanchez, manage the damage control teams. I want us up and outta here as soon as possible. I'll deal with these aerospace fighters."

She brought up the boxy aerospace fighters on her targeting screen. Heavy missile racks were tucked against either side of their fuselage, along with some kind of energy weapon in the nose. Damn, Sanchez was right, they were fast. She watched as they circled higher, lining up for another lightning fast strafing run.

They came screaming down on the Snowmane with fantastic speed. No wonder Sanchez had missed. She had to lead them with her reticule by an incredible distance. She watched as they launched another four salvos of LRMs at her ship, triggering her batteries just as they began to pull up.

The Snowmane was rocked by another sixty LRMs, her thick armor still soaking up the repeated missile strikes. But she finally got her revenge. Dual AC/5's stitched lines along the lead craft's fuselage as two dozen LRMs exploded against the wings. The singe PPC also struck one of the wings, damaging the control surface, and sending the craft wobbling unsteadily through the air as it flew off.

"Make another pass and it will be your last", she swore at the aerospace fighters as they began circling back around again.

-

Just a couple passes, Dawg swore to himself. Just keep 'em distracted for long enough to evac the pilots. The two remaining ComStar 'Mechs were already turning to meet him as he triggered his hovertank's Light Crossbow LRM-10.

Speed. That's what would get him through this. Not firepower, just devil-may-care speed.

The Wyvern responded seconds later with its own Jackson Dart 10 rack, and then they were trading heavy laser fire. Missiles exploded against the Wyvern's right leg and chest, as his Cyclops Eye Large Laser drilled it straight in the head. That ought to get its attention, Dawg grinned. He needed a bit of luck right about now.

The hovertank bucked at is took strikes along its right side and front, but the delicate air skirt remained intact. Then the Thug's unleashed it's dual Tiegart particle cannons. The first flew wide but the second slammed into the front of his 50-ton hovertank, slowing it noticeably.

Motive system damage! Dammit. Already!?

His speedometer dropped, finally holding around 130 km/h, as he zipped past the two ComStar 'Mechs, and began to turn.

The hovertank began skidding laterally across the ground, but thankfully he'd circled around behind the ComStar 'Mechs to an area that wasn't littered with fallen Battlemechs. He brought it back around control, his turret mounted Cyclops snapping off another shot at the Wyvern. There wasn't any sense trying to engage the Thug, but at least he stood a slim chance of hurting the 45-ton Wyvern.

He followed with his Longbow immediately, watching as his heavy laser gouged the Wyvern's left leg. His LRMs flew wide, as both 'Mech returned fire at his speedy craft. The Drillson jerked to his right as the Nightwind heavy laser broadsided him, the speedometer immediately beginning to slip downwards yet again, as missiles exploded harmlessly behind him.

115 kp/h. Dammit! And she was starting to handle rough too he realized as he manhandled the control stricks trying to bring the craft back inline. He hit his com, "Our boy clear yet!? I can't keep these two occupied much longer!"

-

The remaining infantry of the 69th leapt out from the back of the idling Maxim heavy hover transport, spidering across the battlefield as they raced in small teams towards the fallen 'Mechs of their comrades.

The devastation of the battlefield was incredible. Huge war machines lay smoking, some heaped one atop another where they had fallen. The wreckage of 22 BattleMechs in all littered the field, some marked only by a remaining limb and a crater. The firepower that had been unleashed on the field would have leveled entire cities.

The report came in tight and matter of fact. The voices too stunned by the carnage tossed about them, and the fiery crucible they had been forced to pass through yet again to contain any emotion.

"Both Lt. Isamu and Corporal Damaad are dead, and Captain Weddle looks close to it. No survivors among either of the armor crews. Lt. Hamilton, Corporal Walther, and Corporal Southers are mobile. Loading now and returning it to the Snowmane, Captain. Over."

-

Salt watched as the two ComStar fighters lined up for their next attack. "Spanner! What the hell is the damage report!? I wanna get this bucket back into the sky ASAP! Battefield recovery is complete, and they're on the way back now!"

Spanner growled back, "Maybe if you stopped taking ****** damage every two seconds, I could tell you! She'll fly, unless you do something else stupid!"

Well, that was promising news at least. She snapped her attention back to the battery's targeting system as the two planes began to dive. She tracked past the first undamaged craft, setting up her shot at the second one, already trailing smoke from its damaged wing.

Autocannon tracers blazed a path through the sky as she walked her fire across the damaged aerospace fighter belching missiles at her. Both the particle cannon and long range missles coalesced on the target as well, as it turned into a huge flaming fireball in the sky.

Missiles rained down upon the Snowmane for the third time, the huge DropShip quaking under the seemingly endless assault.

"Left side thruster destroyed! Avionics damaged!" Spanner yelled out over the com from engineering. "You take a couple more strikes like that, Varukka, and even you aren't going to able to coax her back into the air, you hairy wart encrusted phlegm ball!"

Sanchez calmly reported, "Maxim just loaded aboard, Captain. Dawg's still out there."

Salt tripped her com watching warily as the remaining ComStar fighter looked to be coming back around. Dammit! Quit already!

"Dawg, get your ass in here now, or I'm leaving you behind! Fire the engines, keep the ramp open!"

-

Dawg hurtled toward the wreckage strewn battlefield at his best possible speed. If he could use the destroyed husks as cover from the two vengeful 'Mechs now behind him, he just might make the DropShip yet.

Smoke began bellowing out as the altitude engines began to fire. One the Thug's Tiegarts struck him solidly in the rear, as he tracked he turret around to point behind him. The Wvyern's Nightwind glanced off his right side, causing only minor damage as he snapped a hasty return shot, striking the 'Mech in its right torso. The Evil Eye was a serious piece of nice 'tech, Dawg reflected, no wonder McMillan had picked a Drillson as his command vehicle. Of course, McMillan was now dead.

He grimaced, but he wasn't, at least not yet. Just one more turn, come on baby!

He jerked the Drillson hard to the right, slewing behind a wall of fallen 'Mechs, but as he went to straighten back out, the Drillson skidded out of control. It side slipped hard right into Hamilton's legless Highlander, crushing the entire right side, and throwing him violently to the side, as the craft crashed to a stop.

Dazed and bloodied, he flipped the com. "Go on, get out! Me and boy aren't gonna make it."

He released his harness, turning to look back at a dangerously pallid Sigil, now slowly leaking blood from newly inflicted wounds. He pulled him out, opening the hatch to the mangled hovercraft.

-

Salt froze. The boy? Sigil? He'd survived?! She reacted instantly. "Whirly-One get your ass back out there and pick up the Captain! We'll open the main bay door. You're gonna have to land while we're in the air. Good luck. Over."

The remaining ComStar fighter dove as the altitude engines finally began to overcome the planetary gravity. She was gonna have to eat this one. Between the damaged thrusters and avionics, it took her full concentration to just to get the Snowmane off the ground.

"Sanchez, get back on the &^%$^&* guns!"

The Snowmane was rocked by missiles strikes, causing yet another warning to light up on the control surface before her. One of the forward weapons bay changed status to offline.

She broke out into a cold sweat, struck by the sudden realization that the ComStar fighter simply wasn't going to quit.

"NEVERMIND, I'LL TAKE WEAPONS CONTROL. SPANNER! TAKE THE HELM! I gotta drop this last fighter or we'll be hitting the ground. Hard."

A strangely sweet voice came back at her. "Why thank you, darling, I thought you'd never ask."

She routed primary flight control to engineering as she brought up the remaining weapon batteries.

First, she pulled up the right side weapons bays letting fly a barely aimed salvo at the two ComStar 'Mechs now below her. She targeted the Wyvern and then set it to automatic fire. She just wanted to force them to keep their heads down while the VTOL finished the evac.

Now, where the hell was that fighter!?

-

Dawg threw Sigil's limp form over his shoulder as he busted butt towards the VTOL which had come screaming out of nowhere like a guardian angel. Friendly hands reached out, pulling them both aboard as explosions continued to rock the battlefield. The Snowmane's weapons batteries were pouring covering fire down from above slowing the two enemy 'Mechs approach.

The VTOL pilot jerked the yoke up hard, sending the craft leaping back into the air. Missiles streaked by the racing VTOL from the Wyvern, as its laser missed low as well. But, one of the Thug's PPCs slammed into the rear of retreating craft, sending it spinning, as flaming debris from the devastating strike flew into the rotors.

Everything went topsy turvy as the pilot fought a desperate struggle to bring the helicopter back under control. The world spun crazily around them, the interior turning a bloody red as emergency lights fired up and alarm bells assaulted their ears.

Miraculously, the pilot leveled them back out, and began vectoring once again toward the alighting Snowmane. Dawg could literally see out of the rear of heavily damaged craft, unconsciously strapping his harness down tighter against his chest as he watched the Snowmane grow closer.

-

Captain Salt spotted the fighter, and she knew exactly what it was planning to do. It was coming in low, almost too low. It was targeting one of the altitude engines. Just like Dawg had done to the ComStar DropShip on the ground only hours earlier, disabling it.

Shit.

If she was right, its approach path would be obvious. She'd get one shot, and she'd have to knock it out of the air. Take out a wing. She nodded. Yeah, take out the wing. She positioned her reticle along the path she was gambling it would take, cheating a hair over to one side to increase the chance of a wing shot.

And come in along that path it did. She sent everything she could put on target at the wing of the aerospace fighter. A PPC, two AC/5s and a pair of LRM 20's erupted from the Snowmane's port side batteries as the fighter fired its own dual LRM racks.

Missile explosions covered the right wing of the ComStar fighter, as the autocannons racked it with stream after stream of high velocity armor piercing rounds. She held her breath, and then the wing tore off, sending the fighter into a steep death spiral from which recovery was impossible.

Then she felt an odd rumbling below her, and a slight change in the ambient sound of the engines.

Her com burst to life. "VARRRRUKKKKKAAAAAA! Engineering's hit, Johnson's dead! Engine #3 damaged! Kerensky, woman, what are you doing up there trying to get us all killed!"

Captain Salt, slumped back into her command couch, the sweat still pouring from her forehead, her hands shaking from the adrenaline.

"All clear. Standby on the bay doors for Whirly-One. It's past midnight, the magics worn off, and it's time to go home. And Spanner, try as I might, looks like we're gonna live as least one more day, you crusty old bastard. Now gimmie flight control back, and start fixing this piece of shit."

-

Chapter 9

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

The infantry quarters aboard the Snowmane resembled a trauma center, and the echoes of wounded soldiers reverberating eerily through the cavernous room reminded all aboard of how many had died. And of how many may yet catch their final ride aboard The Last JumpShip.

The mood aboard the entire ship was somber, bordering on grim. Of the over 120 members of the 69th who had departed from Galatea what now seemed like a lifetime ago, less than half have survived. And it wasn't over yet.

Almost half the 'Mech hangars were empty as well. And the few remaining 'Mechs standing in them looked as bad as the injured men and women moaning in their cots nearby.

Dawg grimaced, his hand grabbing his side where he'd cracked at least two ribs. The medics had bound him up tight, but sometimes just breathing caused splinters of pain to shoot through his body. At least he was on his feet, he thought soberly.

There wasn't much fight left in the 69th. While the spirit might still remain, that was about all that was left. He scanned the holds of the Snowmane. The Battlemaster, Thunderbolt, Striker, Exalibur, Lancelot, Assassin, and Spector were more scrap than 'Mech at this point. The Crab and Night Hawk had already been reduced to nothing but parts. Sigil had practically stripped them bare getting the few units capable of being repaired back on the field.

He shook his head. And those were all gone now too. The Pillager, Atlas, both Archers, the Hatchetman and Night Hawk, the LRM carriers, the Ripper, one of the Maxims. Gone, gone, gone, all gone. Along with most of the men and women who'd driven them.

Oh, and their JumpShip, the Blue Danube. Gone too.

He gingerly walked back up towards the bridge. Even the Snowmane had damage. Thrusters, engine, weapon bay, avionics, it had taken a beating getting off planet.

If he hadn't disabled that ComStar Union class, it would undoubtedly have overtaken them by now, and annihilated them. Especially since Salt refused to pull more the .8 G's with the shape the ship was in.

He arrived on the bridge minutes later, walking up to Salt who was actually looking rumpled. He'd never seen her look anything less than perfect. Until now.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at her. "We need to talk. In your stateroom."

She rose from her captain's chair. "Sanchez, you have the bridge."

Dawg followed her back to her spartan quarters, closing the door behind him.

They both sat, eyeing each other wearily for a long moment.

Salt reached down into one of her desk drawers, producing a bottle of single malt Glengarry Scotch and two tumblers.

She poured them both a good four fingers, sliding one of the tumblers across her desk to Dawg.

Dawg took a long pull, savoring the burning sensation, and closing his eyes he broke the extended silence. "That bad, huh?"

"I'm not going to bullshit you Dawg. We both know ComStar left a fighter carrier back guarding their JumpShip. We might have been able to bull our way through their fighter screen if the Snowmane was at 100%, and even then it was risky as hell. But not now. Not in the shape she's in. They'll tear her to pieces before she even gets close to their JumpShip. We're lucky enough they didn't scramble the Leopard down there to finish us off already."

Dawg slowly opened his eyes as he took another extended sip of the single malt. "I didn't know you drank, Captain Salt."

Salt gave him a deadpan expression. "I don't. I just started. Consider yourself lucky." She tossed the tumbler back, slamming the empty glass down onto her desk.

Dawg raised his eyebrows. "If you would allow an experienced officer to offer a few small pieces of advice… One, this is a sipping whiskey, not a shooting whiskey. And second, you better eat something right now, or you'll likely find yourself stumbling back to the bridge."

Salt leaned back and Dawg could see the scotch at work already. Reaching across her desk, he took the bottle, refilling her tumbler. "Damn, what I wouldn't give for some ice right about now," he chuckled.

Salt flashed a smile. "Now that, I might be able to do something about." She flipped the com built into her desk. "Spanner, you think you could get some ice up here for the Captain?"

Dawg looked on in surprise again. Damn, she smiled. The Ice Queen herself.

"ICE!? YOU WANT ICE!? NOW!? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK I'M DOIN' DOWN HERE? SLEEPING!? I'M TRYING TO KEEP THIS PIECE OF CRAP FROM SHREDDING TO PIECES AND YOU WANT ICE?!"

Salt laughed. "Shut up, you ol' bear! Take a break and join me and the Captain for a drink."

A few minutes later, a short, flaming grease-stained dwarf of a man opened the door. In his hand was a bucket of ice.

The first thing he saw was the half empty bottle of scotch, the second, a rather flushed looking Varukka Salt, and finally a smiling Captain Dawg.

"Where's me glass?" he growled.

Salt unsteadily reached for the bottle before Dawg intercepted her. "Allow me."

He put three cubes in each tumbler, finishing the bottle as he split it equally among the three of them.

He looked over at Spanner, "Where'd you manage to get ice cubes, anyway?"

Spanner's face split in a grin. "Why don't you ask the Good Captain Salt where she got the scotch?"

All three of them shared a laugh.

Then Dawg looked at them both. "So, how long do we have?"

Salt responded. "Two, maybe three days tops. Depends on how aggressive they are, how far they're willing to come out to engage us. I suspect they'll take their time. They must know we're damaged, so I don't see why they'd be in a rush. Besides, they're probably paranoid about their JumpShip after watching the Blue Danube explode. They won't want to go too far."

Spanner scowled at Dawg. "It's all I can do to keep her in one piece. Ain't gonna be no monkey's flying outta my ass in the next few days, so don't bother askin'."

He drained his tumbler looking back over at Salt. "Ain't half bad. So if you're done shootin' the shit, I got work to do."

Grumbling, Spanner got up and left, leaving the two of them alone once again.

Dawg stood up next. "It's been a pleasure serving with you, Captain Salt." He extended his hand across her desk.

Salt looked at his hand as if it were some kind of alien object. "Get out!" she roared.

Dawg paused in the doorway. "One last bit of advice, Captain. You might not want to leave anything unsaid, if you get my drift."

With that, he closed the door.

-

Dawg couldn't sleep. It was oh-dark-thirty, when he felt, rather than saw, Captain Salt slip into the makeshift infirmary.

She went up to the cot where Sigil lay sleeping, kneeling down to whisper something in his ear. Silly boy didn't even wake up. Then again, he was under some serious heavy medication.

Then she was gone, just like a ghost, leaving him to wonder whether it had actually even happened, or if he'd just imagined the whole thing.

But, the next day, back on the bridge, he saw a familiar Sternsacht heavy pistol strapped to her leg. He took it in without saying a word.

Salt noticed him staring, and acknowledged him with a faint nod.

Then she hit the whole ship com, her voice coming through every speaker throughout the ship.

"This is it. In the next few hours, we'll all either be dead or jumping out of this god-forsaken system. It's been my personal pleasure to have served alongside each and every one of you. No one could ask for a group of more devoted soldiers then you have shown yourself time and time again to be. Let's give 'em hell one last time! Battle stations."

-

Chapter 10

Talikser  
3046  
Draconis Combine

Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto, the 69th's Lyran mercenary liaison officer, had no doubt the intelligence he now possessed regarding ComStar was of absolutely vital importance to the Commonwealth. What remained in doubt was whether it would ever reach Asgaard.

Forcing those doubts aside, he looked out over the small ad-hoc command Dawg has entrusted him with. His appreciation for Colonel Henley grew immeasurably as he surveyed what he had to work with. It was, essentially, the perfect tool for the operation at hand.

He had command of what was disturbingly similar to a LIC Loki strike stream. That such a specialized, highly trained squad existed within a small, relatively unknown mercenary unit gave him serious pause. Then again, it certainly explained exactly why the late Captain McMillan had been with them.

The squad had not only trained extensively for Zero-G combat, but had also been fully equipped for it. At a considerable cost no less. Combat space suits, grapple rods, magnetic boots, high end plastic explosives, and Mauser 960 assault systems.

Not to mention the combination Sneak Suits he'd seen back in the lockers aboard the Snowmane.

Where had the Colonel gotten his hands on this stuff? This kind of gear was practically unheard of even within LCAF front line regiments. Maintaining such a unit was, in of itself, prohibitively expensive, not to mention the high mortality and turnover rate.

But here it was. And it actually offered them a chance at survival. And a much better chance than he had any right to expect given the circumstances. If they made it out, he swore to himself, he would personally make damn sure the Colonel, and all of his men, received their full due.

They'd been hiding out in the space station for what must have been a week by now. The destruction of the NL-42 had apparently left ComStar without a craft capable of boarding the space station. Another lucky break. The station itself was obviously severely damaged, and even though a trickle of power still flowed through the savaged station, ComStar had apparently chosen to ignore it.

They'd sealed every bulkhead they could find in order to maintain the severely limited atmosphere. Lt. Sach's Corsair and their Mark VII landing craft were on permanent standby in the remaining semi-functional small craft bay.

He smiled at the Mark VII. Another perfect choice. Was it irony, or had the Colonel actually planned for this kind of contingency. With its limited VTOL ability it was made for this kind of operation.

Their plan was as simple as it was risky. They would take their cue from the ComStar Leopard CV fighter carrier. It was maintaining a constant CAP of two fighters, but having watched it over the past few days, he knew it carried a full squadron of six.

Of course, he had no way of knowing when, or even if, the 69th would manage to escape Talisker and make their way back towards the zenith point. That would require another miracle. One entirely outside of his control. The last he'd seen of the Snowmane it was filled with scrapped 'Mechs and hightailing it back to the planetary surface with a Union and a Leopard in hot pursuit.

But that had been a week ago. If it was going to come, it would come soon, or not at all. Which meant it was time to have the talk he'd been dutifully avoiding. He walked over to the Corsair, noting the damage still present from her previous dogfight days ago.

After all the time they'd spent in zero gravity, the magnetic boots no longer even phased him, or any of them, really, as he crossed the hangar.

"Lt. Sach, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Rachel "Kitten" Sach was stroking the smooth surface of her 50-ton Corsair, frowning as she encountered the ugly black craters where she'd taken missile strikes from the two ComStar fighters she'd fought over a week before.

She snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."

Zardetto motioned her over to an unoccupied, secluded corner of the hangar as he sat down on a chair secured to the floor. "At ease, Leutnant, take a seat."

Kitten sat down across from him, her eyes fixing him with an unsettling intensity.

Zardetto took a deep breath. "I'm sure you're aware of the gravity of the situation, Leutnant. What we face, and what the stakes are."

Kitten nodded wordlessly.

Zardetto's voice dropped to a whisper. "You must have realized by now there is no way you can single handedly take on an entire fighter squadron. No one could. Do you understand what I'm saying, Leutnant?"

Kitten bit her lip as her eyes began to glisten. Again, she nodded wordlessly.

Zardetto continued. "Even the Snowmane couldn't fight off a force like the one that's out there. And, Assuming we even manage to take the JumpShip, we both know what even a single fighter can do to a JumpShip. That means if we're going to have a shot at making this work, that CV needs to be taken care of."

Kitten tried desperately to stop them, but the tears came on anyway.

He fixed her with his eyes. "And you're the only one that can do that for us, Leutnant. There simply isn't anyone else. Now I could give you the whole duty, sacrifice, good of the realm speech, but I'm not going to do that. I know what people fight for, what their willing to die for, and, honestly, it isn't any of those things."

Tears began to work their way down her face as he continued to hold her look.

"We fight and die for the people we love. And that's what I'm asking of you. I need you to give the people you love a chance at surviving this."

Zardetto's insides clinched up, but he held his gaze steady.

Kitten never looked away either. "I'll do what needs to be done, Colonel. You can count on it."

She stood up, finally turning away from him, the tears now streaming freely down her cheeks, as she walked back towards her Corsair.

Zardetto ground his teeth as he watched her go.

He hated it.

He hated ordering people to die.

-

"Colonel! The CV's in motion! She's leaving her station!"

The Colonel bolted upright. "Ok, boys this is it. Load 'em up. You know the plan. Lt. Cordova, you lead Bravo team to the engine room. Alpha team with me."

The bay sprung to life as soldiers checked their gear one last time, and hustled towards the NL-42. They had stripped the interior of every non-essential piece of equipment in order to accommodate both the infantry squad and Forrester's JumpShip crew.

Zardetto pulled Captain Forrester quickly aside. "Remember, your with me, and no heroics, Captain. If anything happens to you or the navigator, this whole things a moot point. Stay back, and stay alive. Got it?"

Captain Forreter grinned. "I've always wanted an Invader, Colonel. Best ****** JumpShip out there if you ask me."

Out of the corner of his eye, Zardetto caught Kitten mounting her Corsair. As she climbed into the cockpit, she turned to look at him.

She gave him a small nod, then tossed him a little packet.

He caught it, saw it was addressed to "Jason Henley," and by the time he looked back up, her canopy had already settled into place over her.

Then he too, gave his gear one final check, and boarded the Mark VII.

-

Kitten's 50-ton Corsair roared alone out of the small craft bay of the space station. She threw the GM 200 wide open wide open and left it there as she banked hard vectoring towards the ComStar Leopard CV now heading away from the JumpShip.

Her eyes flashed over the Ranker TA800. She expected the two unidentifieds making up the ComStar CAP, but there, at the extreme edge of her T&T system's range, was a Union DropShip. Her breath caught in her throat, as she leveled out screaming towards the Leopard CV.

She hit her comlink. "This is Lt. Sach. What's your status?"

Captain Varukka Salt's familiar voice came back to her. It felt like ages had passed since she had last heard it. "The Snowmane sustained moderate damage leaving Talisker. All we can do is try to bull through and link up with the JumpShip. We were mauled by a pair of aerospace fighters, a full squadron…," she trailed off.

The CAP suddenly peeled away from the Leopard, as they noticed Kitten's approaching Corsair.

"I'll take care of the CV. Just get to the JumpShip."

She quickly cut of the com, choking up in the privacy of her cockpit.

Her life. It wasn't supposed to end this way. Her vision blurred as the damn tears sprung back.

Come on, Rachel. Get your shit together girl, you can do this!

Salt's voice came back matter of fact. "Good luck and may Kerensky be with you."

The two ComStar fighters began their approach, one on either side of her. Her throttle remained wide open as she vectored in on the rear of the Leopard and the bay door located there.

She barrel-rolled as the two fighters unleashed their missile racks, spinning the nimble Corsair in complete circles trying to minimize the number of strikes. She wasn't even bothering to try to engage them.

Suddenly, the CV figured out what was going on. The rear mounted laser began firing, as the craft tried to bank down and away, but it was way too large and cumbersome to be able to avoid her fighter.

Missiles exploded all around her, causing the Corsair to shudder violently, as the two ComStar fighters pulled in behind her. But she never wavered.

She could see the craft bay door now, opening as it sought to disgorge another pair of fighters.

But they would never make it out.

Like a capital missile, the 50-ton Corsair rocketed directly in through the open bay doors and exploded.

-

The resulting explosion was visible from the bridge of the Snowmane. The fragile horizontal and vertical stabilizers on the rear of the aerodyne DropShip simply snapped off as a huge fireball erupted from within the internal flight bay. A pillar of flame shot out of the rear of the DropShip like a grotesque flare, as it banked steeply and began rolling over.

"Holy shit… Kitten, she just…," Lt. Sanchez trailed off.

"She gave us a fighting chance is what she did," Salt snapped.

Salt's eyes were glued to the Snowmane's targeting and tracking system as she watched the two remaining aerospace fighters come around, now heading towards her.

"Spanner! Take the con. I'm on weapons. Secure the DropShip. Seal all bulkheads. It's gonna get a little bumpy."

They weren't the same model she'd faced on Talisker. One of them was definitely larger. It too had heavy twin missile racks, but they were pushed back behind the cockpit, and the barrel on the nose of the craft was much larger, although there were also two smaller barrels as well. It was not nearly as maneuverable, but it almost certainly had more armor.

The second aerospace fighter was about the same size as the ones she faced earlier, but not quite as fast, and the wing was swept forward of the cockpit. Missile tubes ran along the leading edge of the nose, and a long barrel was tucked alongside the right side of the fuselage.

She'd take that one out first. "Sachez, take the side batteries, I'll handle the nose. Snap shots at them as they pass. Target the smaller craft first. Trust me, we don't want them getting close, especially after what just happened to their carrier. Here they come."

They came screaming in, the smaller one in the lead, the second just behind and off to it's right side.

Salt shivered involuntarily. They were coming straight in. Either they were content with a full frontal assault or… She didn't want to complete that thought.

As they came within range, the planes unleashed a combined volley of 40 long range missiles, the larger one adding a particle cannon a fraction of a second later, followed by a heavy laser from the smaller craft.

She responded with her forward battery, autocannons sawed away, as 40 of her own long range missiles took flight, followed by a PPC and heavy laser.

The Snowmane screamed as missiles exploded one after another against her hull. The main viewscreen on the bridge flickered, then cut off entirely, and suddenly the bridge was oddly quiet.

Spanner voice boomed out. "AVIONICS AND THE FIRE CONROL SYSTEM! ONE MORE HIT TO THE BLESSED AVIONICS AND WE'LL BE FLYING BLIND! SWITCHING TO BACKUPS NOW! DAMMIT SALT! YOU THINK YOU COULD MANGE NOT TO GET HIT FOR ONCE! HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO FLY THIS THING WITHOUT A ****** FLIGHT COMPUTER!?"

Sanchez yelled out over the din. "Negative on targeting, Captain, my T&T just cut out."

Seconds later, there was audible hum, as the flight computers came back online, and the main viewscreen flickered back to life.

It took a second for Salt to reorient herself. It looked as if the two fighters had buzzed right past the hull. They were now banking around, preparing to make another past, this time at the vulnerable altitude engines. Dammit.

She flipped over to the rear batteries. Coaxially mounted heavy lasers. That was it. That was all she had. It wouldn't be enough. "Sanchez, take the rear battery, I'll handle the side. Keep focusing on the smaller one."

"Yes, Captain," came his immediate reply.

The ComStar fighters disgorged another round of missile fire, adding their energy weapons moments later as they closed. Salt watched as the twin heavy lasers reached out towards the smaller plane, both striking it, one along the wing the other on the nose.

"It's about ****** time you hit something, Sanchez! I'll try and finish it off when it…"

The Snowmane bucked as she took a strike to one of her main engines and began to skewing off to the left. Then the two fighters appeared on her scope. She dropped the reticule over the damaged aerospace fighter and let fly with her full front right battery.

Missiles, streams of explosive shells, and energy fire poured from the side of the Union class DropShip. It strafed the fighter in the midst of banking back around as it attempted to direct another strike aft. The rear of the craft was consumed by multiple explosions as its speed dropped precipitously, the pilot fighting to regain control.

The larger one, however, came back around, unloading at the engines a second time. Sanchez's return fire missed low as the Snowmane continued skewing through space. Again she shrieked as her hull continued taking damage.

Sanchez's voice, tight with tension, reported the results. "Aft weapons battery now offline, Captain."

Salt heard, and felt, the main engines all shut off. Spanner must have his hands full. Well, so did she.

Then the ComStar fighter came around the side again. She triggered another full broadside from the DropShip, racking the craft with missiles, slugs and laser fire, but as she suspected the larger craft was well armored, and the pilot calmly banked around again to make another pass at her rear.

To make things worse, it flew out wide, linking back up with its wingmate, as they prepared to come in together.

They were just picking her to pieces. She slammed her hand down hard against the arm of the command chair. At least there wasn't six of them. They'd all be space trash by now if there had been.

But after this next pass, they'd know the rear battery was out.

And come in they did, weapons blazing and there was nothing she could but take it.

First came the explosions, then came the alarms. And finally, Spanner's rage. "AFT HULL BREACH! I'M SEALING OFF SECTOR 14! DAMMIT WOMAN! ANDERSON AND GERAD ARE IN THERE! LANDING GEAR DAMAGED. AFT WEAPON BATTERY DESTROYED! SWEET MOTHER OF KERENSKY! I'VE CUT THE ENGINES, ABOUT ALL I'VE GOT LEFT IS THE ****** MANUEVERING THRUSTERS! YOU TAKE ONE MORE PASS LIKE THAT AND IT'S GAME OVER SWEETHEART! NICE KNOWIN' YA!"

Salt roared in anger as the two fighters whizzed by her hull, violently triggering her weapon batteries once more. The smaller one had obvious engine damage making it an easy target, and she mercilessly unloaded into it.

She was rewarded as the dual autocannons and missiles nailed it dead center, causing the craft to disintegrate, and sending wreckage scattering on into deep space.

One down. One to go. This was it.

"SPANNER! BANK HARD PORT NOW! I NEED TO PUT SOME GUNS ON THIS THING!"

The Snowmane lurched suddenly, as two of the main engines roared back to life and the remaining thrusters went full, catching the last ComStar fighter off guard as it tried to line up another shot at the aft.

And it was a beautiful shot. Her weapons converged on the heavy aerospace fighter as it launched its final volley. She knew never which weapon did it, but one of them found its way to the fighter's fuel tank, engulfing the entire craft in a spectacular display of fireworks, the blazing star shaped trails hanging in space marking the spot of the craft's final destruction.

She barely noticed the missile strikes against her port side, but it was certainly not lost upon her chief engineer.

"PORT THRUSTERS GONE! ******! TAKE THE HELM ALREADY! I CAN'T TALK THE BITCH INTO STRAIGHTIN' BACK OUT! SHE'S JUST LIKE YOU, WON'T LISTEN TO NOBODY!"

She tossed her long blonde hair back, laughing loudly. "Did you just acknowledge that I am, in fact, the better pilot, my dear Spanner?"

For possibly the first time ever, his only response was silence.

Still grinning, Captain Varruka Salt took the control sticks governing the maneuvering thrusters and set to work.

The only question left was whether or not they'd have a JumpShip to dock with.

-

Chapter 11

Talisker  
3046  
Draconis Combine

The Mark VII landing craft hurtled out the small craft bay of the now abandoned space station seconds after the ComStar Leopard CV exploded.

As they approached it, Lt. Cordova turned to his temporary commanding officer, Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto. "What is the RoE, sir?"

Zardetto wasn't a brutal man. He did what he did because he believed in protecting the Lyran people. He had a strong sense of duty, although he was aware that few in the LCAF shared his equally strong sense of responsibility.

The Zardetto family had served in the LCAF for generations. His assignment as a mercenary liaison officer was an interim one. He had wanted to better understand first, how the LCAF interfaced with the MRBC, and then second, to watch a mercenary unit in action. To say he was impressed with 69th's performance would be a vast an understatement.

They has essentially destroyed an entire battalion of ComGuards fully equipped with Star League technology, and razed their base of operations to the ground.

With just a reinforced company. It was an action worthy of the Lyran Royal Guards.

Assuming he made it out of here alive, he knew he likely had at least a battalion command waiting for him next. But command was a double-edged sword. It sent a constant stream of gut wrenching decisions your way. Like Lt. Sach. Her blood was on his hands. There were times when he felt like he was drowning in the blood of the men and women his commands had led to their deaths.

But above it all, rose the mailed fist of the Lyran Commonwealth. And, in the end, it is to that he sought his solace. The 69th had laid bare the treachery of ComStar, revealing it to be a direct threat to the existence of that which he held so dear.

And he had long ago sworn to do everything in his power to protect her.

Solemnly, he spoke into his personal com, his voice coming through the helms of each and every one of the soldiers under his command.

"Delta Protocol."

For a single terrifying moment, he understood men like Captain McMillan, and the circumstances that forced their hands.

-

The Mark VII came in fast, arcing around the huge JumpSail trailing out behind the massive ship. The pilot deftly brought it right alongside the slender tubular hull of the Invader, stopping amidships and hovering.

"Secure suits. Depressurizing cabin. Stand by bay doors."

With a hiss audible even through their helmets, the atmosphere in the cabin was vented outside. Seconds later the bay doors opened, revealing the steel hull of the JumpShip silhouetted by constellation after constellation of bright twinkling stars only meters below them.

"Go! Go! Go!"

The first wave of space marines hurled themselves out the craft bay doors, firing their grappling rods as they leapt.

The adhesive darts attached themselves silently to the hull of JumpShip, followed by the second, then third, and final wave.

Lt. Cordova's unit began making their way aft towards the engineering sections, their heavy magnetic combat boots allowing them to navigate the surface of the hull with relative ease.

Lt. Colonel Zardetto led his small force fore towards the bridge.

The full length of the Invader was approximately 500 meters. The most distinctive feature of the Invader class was the two hydroponic garden domes sprouting from either side of the front of the ship.

It was here Zardetto planned to enter.

They'd been over the plan in minute detail time and time again while waiting aboard the space station. Captain Forrester was familiar with the interior layout of the Invader, and had worked with them to identify the best egress points, as well as the exact path to their respective destinations.

Everyone knew exactly what their role was and where to go, so there was no need for Zardetto to issue any commands.

The first platoon sprang immediately into action, clambering up the side of the glassteel garden dome, planting explosives. Triggering the timers, they quickly retreated back down.

Seconds later the glassteel dome was shattered by the shaped charges, a plume of escaping atmosphere marking the breech.

They were through the hole in a flash, dropping down into the lush gardens, pulse laser rifles at the ready as they moved swiftly towards the passageway connecting the dome with the ship proper.

Alarms were already going off, as small charges were placed on the bulkheads which sealed the dome off from the rest of the ship.

"Clear!"

Another thunderous explosion rocked the dome, but the marines were racing through the smoke before it even had a chance to begin dissipating. Time was everything. They had to take the ship fast. The possibility hung out there that it could Jump out of system before they managed to secure it, stranding the Snowmane and taking them only Kerensky knows where.

His command thundered up the passage way towards the bridge. Captain Forrester, his navigator and communications officer ran crouched in the center of the group as they raced towards the bridge.

Zardetto was in the second rank of soldiers, and saw the discharges of the first Mauser 960s. A pair of robed figures dropped to the ground like rag dolls, the marines mercilessly running them through with the vibroblade bayonets affixed to the end of their rifles as they rushed past.

Two turns later they were at the reinforced door leading to the bridge, having never even broken their swift stride. More shaped penta-glycerin charges were plastered across it.

"Clear!"

The steel portal was rendered in half, as the marines charged through it, the ones in the lead firing at targets Zardetto couldn't even see as they stormed the bridge. One of his soldiers spun around, crumpling to the ground next to him, as he shoved Captain Forrest down hard against the decking.

Laser fire filled the bridge and passage, as Zardetto climbed atop Forrester. A split second later, an explosion ripped through the anteroom leading to the bridge. Marines hit the ground all around him, some wounded some dead, as he felt a sharp burning sensation spreading through his right side.

The last rank of marines behind him sprinted ahead filling the gap their rifles held level as they advanced with practiced precision.

Zardetto reached his gloved hand down to his side. It came away bright and sticky with blood.

Confusion reigned on the bridge for a few more interminably long seconds, punctuated by another pair of small explosions, as the cries of the wounded began filtering through the ringing in his ears.

Then a voice came through the comset built into his helmet. They spoke the two words he'd been praying to hear.

"Bridge Secured."

-

Adrenaline flooded through Lt. Cordova as he led his team towards the access hatch they planned to use to infiltrate the ship. He was about to put Captain's Forrester's knowledge to the test. If he was correct, it would allow them almost immediate access to the main control point for the K-F drive.

After seeing how quickly the ComStar Adept Julianna Rose was able to disable the interstellar drive aboard the Blue Danube, it was absolutely imperative they take control of it as quickly as possible.

Relief flooded through Cordova as they arrived at the appointed spot. Sure enough, a maintenance hatch was there. Four members of his team approached with their bulky lascutters, each starting at one of the corners as they began to cut the hatch open.

Long seconds later they finished their work. One of them leaned down attaching a large suction cup to the hatch, pulling it up to reveal the interior of the JumpShip. It was a narrow service conduit. The four men dropped back, four more armed with Mauser 960s equipped with flash suppression taking their place.

The first one dropped down the conduit, followed in short order by the remaining three. Cordova went next, followed by three more marines, then Tuttle, the Blue Danube's chief engineer, and a pair of his technicians.

They floated rapidly down the conduit, propelling themselves along by pushing off the walls of the cramped passage with their arms. They came moments later to small airlock.

Four duffel bags were handed up to the front, as four of the marines piled into the tiny room sealing themselves inside.

Once inside, the airlock pressurized as they hastily removed their space suits and pulled the duffel bags open. Inside where four combination sneak suits. They donned them quickly with practiced ease, then opened the airlock.

Two of them rolled silently into the engineering section, as the other two stepped crouching in and to either side of the lock, sending it back for the next group.

Four barrels swung waved back and forth, each having been assigned their own quadrant earlier.

The only sound was three robed ComStar adepts slumping dead to the floor. With a series of quick hand motions, the four proceed intently through the bay, their weapons constantly scanning for targets. Three, four, than five, more of the ComStar JumpShip crew died silently.

Behind them the airlock opened once again, as Lt. Cordova and four more marines still in their combat space suits scuttled into the large chamber, weapons held at the ready. They formed a small arc around the airlock as they awaited the arrival of the Chief Engineer as his men.

Meanwhile, the four snipers continued their sweep of the room. Lt. Cordova knew they were out there, but even knowing it, he found it almost impossible to make them out as their sneak suits constantly adjusted its camouflage to match exactly with the background as they passed.

They had been drilled again and again on how to maximize the suit's effectiveness. To move at a smooth, steady pace, but ever too fast nor too abruptly. They moved with the feline grace of cats, as they proceeded their deadly sweep.

Three more robed Acolytes feel dead, never even having seen their impending doom.

Then the alarms sounded. That was cue for the marines assembled at the airlock. Four of them fanned out swiftly crossing the bay and began to work their way up the other side, as the remaining marines moved to cover the main entranceway to the section.

Cordova remained with the Tuttle and his technicians.

As the entranceway hissed open, a small cluster of ComStar adepts were cut down mid-stride as they tried to enter the engine room.

"Engineering secured."

-

Captain Forrester was feverishly feeding the Jump solution to Phalan into the Invader's navigational computer. His communications officer had already established contact with the Snowmane, and Captain Salt had begun docking procedures shortly thereafter.

Tuttle was retracting the JumpSail, and the Mark VII had been settled into one of the two small craft bays on the spacious JumpShip.

Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto watched all of this as he leaned gingerly against the railing on the bridge, his side heavily taped from the shrapnel he'd taken. A textbook operation. That they'd managed to take the JumpShip at all was surprising enough, but taking it with only five killed and six wounded bordered on the unbelievable.

But not as unbelievable as the fact they were actually going to Jump out of Talisker. Alive.

The fact they had killed, or basically assassinated, the entire 24 man ComStar JumpShip crew still didn't sit well him. He knew in his heart he didn't have to stomach to be a Special Ops commander, nor would he ever want to be.

"Delta Protocol," he whispered to himself.

And he swore he would never utter those two words again.

-

Captain Salt looked practically giddy as she brought the severely damaged Snowmane to rest against the Invader's docking collar and watched grinning as the K-F boom deployed.

The sense of relief permeated the entire ship, and Dawg noticed every face hosted a grin or a smile. The same faces which had only hours before been tight with tension, fatigue, or even despair.

Except his own. He turned, looking off in the direction of Talisker. Too many had died. On both sides. Talisker had played host to the most brutal, visceral fighting he had ever witnessed.

And he knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Captain Forrester's jubilant voice broke his grim thoughts.

"Prepare for departure. Next stop, Phalan, Lyran Commonwealth. We're going home."

-

Chapter 12

Phalan  
3047  
Lyran Commonwealth

A pair of huge 90-ton Lyran Chippewas bristling with weapons swooped in towards the captured ComStar Jumpship immediately after the 69th emerged from hyperspace. Phalan was on the border of both the Draconis Combine and the Free Rasalhague Republic, and as such, the LCAF had stationed defenses at the zenith point.

A heavily modified Union class DropShip, as well as a fighter carrier were visible as distant specs on the main viewscreen. Commonly referred to as "Pocket WarShips," or assault class DropShips, their primary mission was to engage and destroy other DropShips, rather than ferry 'Mechs down to the planetary surface.

The Invader's main viewscreen displayed the face of a Lyran Hauptman looking decidedly stern. "Invader class JumpShip. Identify yourself immediately."

Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto stepped forward, wincing briefly as the wound on his side flared up. He addressed the Lyran Hauptman. "Lt. Colonel Paul Zardetto, Lyran Commonwealth Armed Services, Department of Mercenary Troop Liaison. I have multiple severely injured aboard, request immediate authorization to launch a Mark VII shuttlecraft to take our wounded to the planetary surface for treatment. I also request a shuttle to dock immediately to conduct me to Tharkad Alpha-One Priority transport."

The Lyran Hauptmann blinked hard as he took it all in, but to his credit recovered quickly. "Lt. Colonel, you will need to transmit your full identification, as well as the proper authorized requisitions. Until I've received the proper forms, I'm not authorized to grant either of your requests. Furthermore, until I can verify your identity, you are under Quarantine. This is an unscheduled emergence, from an unknown JumpShip. Your hull bears no identifying markings or registration number. This is all highly irregular, sir."

The famous Lyran bureaucracy. "Hauptman, allow me to direct you to the red terminal on the bridge. The one you learned about way back in OCS, but have probably never used. Walk over there right now, and type in the following code I am about to give you. When it asks for they key, use the file I am transmitting now."

The Hauptman looked suspicious, but rose and walked over to the terminal. Zardetto recited, "November, Three, Three, Four, Alpha, Alpha, Bravo, Seven, Six, Seven, Delta, Two, Two, Three, Echo, Romeo."

The Hauptman tapped the screen a few more times, and then waited. Finally, he stood back up returning to his command chair, but remained standing.

He looked shaken. "Sir, I authorize the immediate departure of your shuttlecraft to the planetary surface. I will order the LCAF JumpShip Fortune to dispatch a shuttlecraft to dock with your JumpShip and take you to Tharkad Alpha-One. I will transmit a full report to the CIC on Phalan shortly to inform them of the situation and the actions I have taken, Sir."

The Hauptman paused. "Is there anything else I can assist you with, Lt. Colonel?"

Zardetto nodded. "Two more things, Hauptman. First, I want you to personally ensure the men and women going to Phalan receive the best medical treatment available. No if, and, or buts. Second, Captain Forrester will be making his way to the Port Sydney Shipyards on Alarion as soon as he's recharged. You will coordinate with him on his Jump path, and make the proper arrangements to ensure he has no trouble getting there. As soon as I am able, I will personally transmit a report to Alarion regarding his status. The contents of the docked DropShip are November Tango Kilo Oscar."

The LCAF Hauptman gave a smart, crisp salute, then looked off screen briefly. "Yes, Sir. The Fortune has just dispatched their shuttle."

Zardetto nodded. "Excellent, Hauptman. I know the situation is an unusual one. It pleases me to know there are still people in the LCAF who can get things done quickly. What is your full name?"

The Hauptman looked surprised. "Steven Longrin, sir. Hauptman Steven Longrin."

Zardetto smiled. "Thank you, Hauptman Longrin. Dismissed."

The Lyran captain's face disappeared from the viewscreen.

Captain Forrester turned, giving Zardetto a quizzical look.

Zardetto answered the look, "I was awarded the McKennsy Hammer back in '39 for a little rear guard action I led on Kessel. The media made a big deal about it."

Zardetto shrugged as he went on, "Thankfully, it comes with a bit more than just the 9-kilogram silver block hammer and another pretty pen for my dress blues. It also provides me a way to bypass the military bureaucracy in extreme situations, like this one. Though I confess, this is first time I've had to call on it. I don't like throwing my weight around."

Both men turned as Captain Dawg, the acting CO, walked onto the bridge of the captured JumpShip.

He addressed Zardetto. "Those two Chippewas aren't exactly giving me the warm and fuzzy. What's the status? You know Salt's got itchy fingers."

Zardetto nodded. "I'll be taking a LCAF JumpShip to Tharkad. Given the nature of the intelligence, obviously I can't entrust it to ComStar's HPG network, so I will be hand delivering it to Asgaard. Hauptman Longrin will be working with Captain Forrester on routing your JumpShip, along with the Snowmane, to Alarion. The contents of the Snowmane are strictly confidential and, for once, I'm grateful for Captain Salt's extremely possessive nature."

"Once I arrive on Tharkad, I will make arrangements for your unit's compensation. Unless my math is way off, your unit stands to receive a considerable payout given the capture of the Invader, which the LCAF will undoubtedly exercise exchange rights on."

Forrester grimaced as he heard the fate of what he was quickly becoming to think of as "his ship."

"In the meantime," Zardetto continued, "the Mark VII can be loaded with the Colonel, Captain Weddle, as the rest of the seriously injured for immediate transport to Phalan for medical treatment. I have asked Hauptman Longrin to take responsibility in seeing they get the best possible treatment available."

Dawg nodded as he handed Zardetto a datapad. "It's all here, Lt. Colonel. Everything. Unedited. Including the aerial footage from Whirly-One showing the 2nd battle of Talisker, as well as the information captured by the Snowmane's radar. I was going to give you the sanitized version, but I've changed my mind on that. Let the LCAF High Command see what really happened there, down to the last grizzly detail."

Zardetto accepted the datapad solemnly. "Thank you, Captain. I understand intimately just what this mission has cost the 69th, and I will impress that upon my superiors. The intelligence you've recovered reveals a much darker, and well hidden, side to ComStar, as well as rare insights into what both Primus Myndo Waterly and Precentor Martial Anastasius Focht may be up too. It is valuable enough that I will be personally delivering it the LCAF High Command on Tharkad."

Zardetto held Dawg's look for a long moment. "You have my personal gratitude, Dawg. It's been a pleasure serving alongside of you and your men. Please convey my sincere thanks to the Colonel."

Zardetto extended his hand.

Dawg took it, giving it a firm shake. "It's going to take a lot more than gratitude and thanks to get the 69th back on its feet after this, Lt. Colonel. I hope you remember that once you get to Tharkad."

Zardetto nodded. "You can be sure of it, Dawg. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a shuttle to catch."

Zardetto reached into his pocket, taking out a small parcel. "One last thing, Dawg. I had hoped to give this to the Colonel personally, but since I won't be able to, I'm passing it onto you. This was given to me by Lt. Sach just before she departed the space station in her Corsair."

Dawg took the small parcel wrapped in plain brown paper. It was labeled simply, "Jason Henley."

He stared at it a long time, as Zardetto saluted, then turned heading towards the small craft bay.

-

Phalan  
3047  
Lyran Commonwealth

Colonel Jason Henley was so sick of physical therapy he was debating whether or not to simply saw off his leg and have it replaced with a Type IV prosthesis. It was tempting. He would likely carry a slight limp for the remainder of his life, and there was no question the scars were permanent.

He was unconsciously fingering the long angry scar running down the full length of the left side of his face, when there came a soft knock on the door. It opened shortly thereafter admitting Dawg to his hospital room.

Dawg gave the Colonel a crisp salute. "You're looking much better, Colonel."

Colonel Henley growled, "Dispense with the formalities, Dawg. I read your full report, and watched the holovids. There isn't much of a unit left."

Dawg gave a short nod. "You have orders, sir?"

Colonel Jason Henley turned away, looking out of the windows of his small hospital room.

Dawg approached his bed. "There is one thing that wasn't in my report, Colonel."

He placed a small brown package on his bedside table. "I'll come back later, sir."

The door closed softly behind him.

Henley lifted the small package off the table. He recognized the hand writing immediately. Kitten. He winced. It felt impossibly heavy, though it was in reality quite light.

He stared at it for a long time, recalling the dark dreams which had plagued his medically induced slumber. The pain it brought was deeper and more visceral than any his physical injuries. And he knew instinctively that while his body would heal, his soul was irrevocably damaged.

He opened the parcel, stalwartly fighting off the emotions tormenting his mind.

A pair of silver wings fell out, wrapped in a red silk sash. They had both been awarded to Kitten when she had graduated from the Flight Academy of Thorin.

Inside was also a letter. He tried to steady his ragged breathing as he slowly unfolded it and began to read. The ink was spotted with tears, and in some places almost entirely blurred.

He watched as another wet spot suddenly appeared on the letter, and it took him a moment to realize that he was now weeping as well.

_My Dearest Jason~___

_If you're reading this, it means that my sacrifice was not in vain. That you, at least, survived, and that was my hope all along. It was all I had left to cling to. ___

_You made all of my dreams come true, Jason. I dreamed of learning to fly, so you sent me to the Flight Academy. I dreamed of an aerospace fighter to call my own, so you bought me my Corsair. ___

_I even dreamed of a life with you, and you gave me those few tender nights on Thorin. ___

_It's funny how it takes you so long to realize something that once you know seems so obvious. And if I have any regret, it is that I never told you how I felt.___

_But, I think you knew. And honestly, I think you felt the same way. Maybe I'm just fooling myself by thinking that, but here, in what are likely my last hours, I remember how you came back to me that early morning in your suite at the RedBud. ___

_I can still see the torment in your eyes when you stood there at the window as I called out to you. The internal struggle between what you felt was your duty, and your heart.___

_And in that moment, you chose your heart, Jason. And you came to me.___

_I think that was the moment I fell in love with you. But I could see that you didn't want to be burdened with that, so I held my tongue and took whatever you were willing to offer.___

_And don't think, even for a second it wasn't enough. It was. I know what it's like to be in the military, and I never expected, nor would I have wanted you, to choose me over the unit. ___

_You would never have been happy with that. And, for my sake, don't ever delude yourself into thinking you would have been. You wouldn't.___

_I went to my death with a smile on my face. And I have you to thank for that.___

_And, if I may be permitted to reach briefly out from beyond the grave, this is what I would say to you now. ___

_"Sorry about the Corsair, sir. I promise I'll do better next time."___

_Love,___

_Kitten_

-

The Colonel was still leaning back against his pillow, the letter, sash, wings, and discarded wrapping still on his bed, when Dawg returned a few hours later.

His face was stricken, anguished, tormented, and haunted. He looked hollowed out, as if his soul had somehow been emptied from his body.

Dawg shuddered, as he softly inquired, "Your orders, sir?"

The Colonel mechanically turned his head to face the Captain, all emotion suddenly vanishing without a trace, locked away in some dark and secret foreboding place.

As the Colonel spoke, his voice was as equally devoid of feeling as his face.

"Everyone gets a year's leave, plus one year's salary at full combat rates. Anybody who wants out may take that option and still receive full pay. Pay out death benefits plus one year's full pay to next of kin. Repair what remains of the unit's equipment, including the Snowmane. Move our base of operations to Outreach. I will no longer abide the ComStar Mercenary Review Board. We will use the newly opened Hiring Hall operated by Wolf's Dragoons for our next contract."

Dawg shook his head. "Colonel, there's another problem. I just checked."

The Colonel's dead eyes bored into him.

Dawg swallowed. "ComStar has frozen all of our accounts, including the funds deposited by the Lyran Commonwealth for the Talisker contract, sir. And the MRB has blacklisted the 69th Expeditionary Force. We're broke, sir."

"Liquidate whatever hard assets we have left to pay out our personnel, including what remains of my Battlemaster and Captain Weddle's Thunderbolt. See what the Lyran's are willing to give us on the exchange rights for the Invader and the ComStar 'Mechs we managed to get away with. There should be enough to repair the Snowmane. Transfer it clear and free to Captain Salt. If the Lyran's give us a JumpShip as part of the deal, transfer it to Captain Forrester. The remaining balance is to be divided among the founding members based on their respective shares."

The Colonel once again looked out the window. "The 69th is finished. I will be returning shortly to my home on Whittington to complete my recovery."

Dawg saluted and turned to leave, as the Colonel added, "One last thing, Dawg. I left Sigil's Clint with Dietrich Vinh back on Galatea. Tell Sigil. He can keep it and what's left of the Assassin as well if he wants. Deduct it from his share."

Henley held Dawg's look for a long a time. "And thank you. I couldn't have asked for more, from anyone, Dawg."

The Colonel returned to staring numbly out the window, the crumpled remains of the Kitten's letter still scattered on his bed, and the ruins of his unit clouding his mind.

His father had been right. You can win on the battlefield and still lose to the politicians.

There was a time when he had refused to believe that. But no more.

-

Epilogue

Tharkad  
3047  
Lyran Commonwealth

Marshal of the Armies Ran Felner sat back in his chair as Lt. Colonel Zardetto finished his briefing. Felner had spent the last five years working nonstop integrating the separate armies of the Federated Suns and Lyran Commonwealth into the single unified Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth.

Felner spoke, "Your report will be of particular interest to Prince Hanse Davion. I will see to it that he receives a copy. He has long suspected ComStar of working behind the scenes to disrupt the union of the Steiner and Davion realms. Although I fear not even the Prince's own Operation Flush was able to come up with as much intelligence as you have presented here in this briefing."

"Your battlefield analysis indicates the ComGuards are now a capable and well equipped military force. That, combined with their deployment at HPG compounds throughout the entire Inner Sphere, is by itself, enough to give serious consideration. But their apparent willingness to now use that military force to foster rebellion in the Isle of Skye makes their threat appear much more ominous."

"The changes in the curriculum at the Sandhurst Royal Military College, and their use of the ComGuard to fight pirates along the periphery to gain actual combat experience for their units is new. As is the indication of the existence of factions within ComStar itself. Fanatical and violent factions no less. And I'm sure the Department of Military Intelligence will find the anecdotal stories from the Adept of what it is like to be raised and trained within ComStar of some interest. Knowledge of what happens on Terra, and what goes on within the secretive HPG compounds is extremely scarce."

Zardetto saluted. "Thank you, Marhsal. I thought the information recovered of sufficient value, and sensitivity, to requisition Alpha-One transport to Tharkhad to hand deliver it. There is one last thing, Marshal, if I may."

Marhsal Felner nodded, indicating Zardetto could continue.

"The 69th Virginia Expeditionary Force, sir. Their unit suffered over a 50% mortality rate to bring us this information. Their equipment losses are almost 100%. As a unit, they have effectively been destroyed. You have seen for yourself the kind of fighting force they are, and I am of the opinion it would be loss if they were forced to disband. ComStar's MRB has blacklisted the unit and seized all of their accounts. They're on the ropes, Sir. I would like to throw them a lifeline."

Marshal Felner frowned. "They're mercenaries, Lt. Colonel. They knew the risks when they accepted the contact. Dismissed."

Zardetto's face tightened briefly before he brought it back under control. "Yes, sir."

-


End file.
